The Butcher of Baker Street
by Bagginses
Summary: Adrienne's threatened by The Butcher, escaped serial killer who's already tried to take her life. Put into protection, placed at 221C, she meets the ever charming Sherlock and all round good guy, John who are put on a case a little too close to home for her. The Butcher's happy to wait until it's time to come back for his old friend Adrienne a.k.a Patient 24. Warning, it's graphic
1. Prologue

**I don't own anything but the original characters and the storyline, the rest of the brilliant is down to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**

…

Nothing.

"Get her a blanket!"

"I will have you!" A horribly familiar voice called. I didn't even bother to look. His voice should make my blood run cold, make me shiver in fear anything. But nothing, no reaction. "You will be counted, 24!"

"Get him out of here!" A deep voice called. There was some shuffling, lots of movement around me. Blue flashing lights lit up the dark night sky.

"I want you to see if you can find any link to any of the other cases." Another voice. "Dawson, get a perimeter set up, I want the entire forest patrolled, no one in or out without my clearance." There was a pause, one which took a lifetime and a second all at once. "Smith, you're in charge of the press, no one sees Wells or that son of a bitch. No interviews, no photo's and absolutely no one get's her name, you got it?"

"Yes, Sarge." Another voice.

"Miss Wells?"

I could feel nothing.

"Miss Wells, can you hear me?"

Why couldn't I feel? I could see but everything was just blurs. Like fast motion cars. I could hear but it was just white noise. Like background sounds in a movie. Whispers from the room next door.

"Miss Wells?"

There were so many people.

"The bleeding's not slowing, I need more bandages!"

"Call ahead, we're gonna need an emergency transplant, type 'O'."

Were they talking about me? I feel pressure all over my body. My neck, my wrist, my leg. What was happening. Everything was a smudgy blur. Like observing the world through thick frosted glass. Suddenly a light was shining brightly into my eyes. I felt like I should have reacted, at least flinched. But I couldn't, my body was heavy and numb all at once. I tried to follow the light with my eyes, but a pain twitched at the back of my head when I did.

"She's losing too much blood!"

"We have to move her."

"No! She doesn't die like this!" A voice shouted angrily from a short distance. That voice again, it won't go away. It' been tormenting me for hours. Terrifying me, torturing me. "I haven't finished!"

"Get in the car."

"She's number 24,_ I_ am her end!" That cold voice again.

"Get in the car, you sick _fuck_!" Another voice said.

"She's going into cardia…"

My hearing went, either that or the world around me suddenly silenced. But I could see people taking, see the lights and their sirens, the rain. I was pushed down, forced to lay on my back while very official looking people leaned over me, their eyes wide with adrenaline or fear. Their lips moving, they were talking, but I couldn't hear, I couldn't hear anything. Were they paramedics? My eyes started blurring. I felt blank. Empty, as if I was totally hollow. Just a shell.

I watched carefully through my restricted vision as one of the people mouthed the word 'Clear' or 'Hear'. I couldn't tell until my body jerked involuntarily. I felt that! I felt it, something, anything was welcome right about now. My vision increased slightly, but just a fraction. Just enough to see the same person mouth the same word again. Followed again by my body jerking. The sensation brought back my ability to feel. I felt my fingers, my arms everything. I felt the fear, this fear that had been choking me for a long time. Why was I afraid? What was I afraid of? The unflinching silence was scaring me more than anything. That and the fear stricken faces of the people around me. My body jerked for a third time, sending an itchy electric pulse through my body.

"Miss Wells, can you hear me?" That's my name, Miss Wells! Adrienne Wells.

At her question I must have replied, her eyes calmed visually and she spoke again.

"We're taking you to the Community Hospital in Weymouth. Try to stay awake on the journey." She said calmly, having used that same line over and over no doubt. "You're safe Miss Wells, you're completely safe now."

…From what?

I'm not sure whether I responded aloud or not. Why was I here? What was happening? Everything seemed like it was happening in front of me, but I wasn't involved. Just watching like the world was a huge movie. Everything happened slowly, but at the same time it was is if I'd pressed fast forward; In the ambulance, through the corridors, to a room. Surrounded by more people. Doctors. They treated me, worked over me but I couldn't feel it. My body numb and unflinching as they did whatever they were doing. People came in. I was asked questions, told things. I went through the motions, nodded and shook my head when what was working in my mind told me to. But their faces. None of them seemed contented with my reactions. Each of them shared the same sympathetic glance. Like that look a stranger gives you when they find out your Mum's died. That rehearsed look that has no really care behind the eyes. Why though? What had happened to me?!

It wasn't until a middle aged Doctor came in that I pulled myself to the present. His face already sat in a natural frown, spreading across his wrinkled face.

"Miss Wells." He started strongly. His voice wasn't like the others, there was no pity, no sadness. I looked up and his face wasn't contorted into a well practised pitiful look. His face was as stern as his posture.

"…Yes?" Was that my voice? That croaky whisper couldn't have been me.

"You've gone into shock from the recent events that have transpired."

"What happened?" That was me. What _had_ happened to me? I sounded so totally spent, so used up and warn out, I almost sounded dead.

"What I'm about to tell you may trigger your memory, but you have absolutely nothing to fear." He comforted. For some reason his almost emotionless severity was more comforting than the fussing nurses. "Miss Wells, you were the most recent target and victim of a serial killer known as 'The Butcher'…."

He'd continued talking but his words had seemed to trigger something. My memory of the last few hours hit me like a train. The street, the house, the bloodied floor, the jars of body parts, the rusty blades, the knife, his words, that voice, his face. His face! It flashed into my head and my heart started beating wildly. My entire body numbed again, everything but my chest. It constricted and I felt like I was choking and drowning. A sudden fast beeping was all could hear. All I could focus on was that face, that face that I'm sure was burnt into my brain. I'd never forget that face. The cruel smirk, the soulless eyes.

"Miss Wells, calm down!" Was shouted from somewhere, but it was mainly blocked out by the cruel, callous voice in my head: _'You will be counted, 24.'_

**I hope you like it! I'm really excited about this one.**

**I know it's only the Prologue, but I'd love to know what you think.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Fresh Start

**It already has reviews! I know it's vague at the moment, but it'll all be explained as the story unfolds.**  
**Thanks for reading!**

4 years later…

"Are you sure you don't need a hand taking the bags inside, love?" The clearly native London policeman asked.

We'd pulled up on a street, just a regular street in London. Central London to be specific. It was quite a change, and in alternative surcumstances I'm sure the idea of moving to such a sought after place to live would have me excited, jumping up the front steps of my new building to have a look around. But instead that familiar nothingness had settled in again.

"No, I'm fine thank you." I smiled weakly at him. Police Officers were the only people I didn't have to hide myself around. They knew. The ones I came in contact with had been told my story. I didn't have to slap on a smile, hide my true feels, it was oddly comfortable being able to go numb without anyone asking questions.

"You have the card?" He asked, it almost sounding patronising, like a parent talking to a young child. I just nodded, knowing the card with 'Detective Inspector Lestrade's' number on was in my coat pocket. "Any trouble call, or the men upstairs could help you. They're with us, any problems and go to them until we get here, ok?" I nodded again, my voice losing itself for the millionth time that day. "Ok, well it looks like you're all set."

"It does." I agreed, not entirely listening to the young policeman.

"You really don't want help with your bags?" He asked one final time before handing my new keys over. I looked down at my bags. One suitcase and an over shoulder holdall was all I had. All the worldly possessions I'd owned were gone, all I had now was my clothes, shoes and a picture of my real parents the police had allowed me to keep.

"Honestly I'm fine. Thank you for everything." I smiled, genuinely grateful to for the nice Policeman, even if he did share the same look each of the others had given me. The look as if they thought I was a lost child or an injured bird, that shallow sympathy that I hated.

"No problems. Remember, just ring if you need something, anything and we'll be right here." He winked and grinned reassuringly before turning and getting back into the unmarked police car. I watched the car disappear around the corner before picking up my bags and pulling them up the stairs, trying to keep my hands steady as I unlocked the door. Only to have it swing open as soon as I put the key in.

"Ah!" An older women shouted in an odd sort of familiar welcome. "You must be Miss Bennett." She greeted with a knowing wink. God, if this is as subtle as she gets I'm in trouble.

"Yes, I'm Meghan, it's lovely to meet you..?" I started. God, what is her name!?

"Mrs Hudson, dear." She smiled, it was hard not feeling welcomed by her. "Do come inside, the weather's awful!" She took my bags without question and pulled them into the hallway. I followed, retrieving my keys and shutting out the weather behind me.

"Now, Gregory has already explained, almost everything, other than the reason you're under protection." She dropped my bags and puffed out a breath. I already felt a little guilty for letting her carry them. "But I won't pry, dear! It's none of my business, but at the same time you're more than welcome to talk to me about it. I could make us some tea and you can fill me in. But only if you want to, mind you!" She looked at me and smiled.

"Oh look at me! I'm rambling! You probably want to see your flat!" She shook her head and gestured over her shoulder as she started down the hall again. Straight to a door that simply read 'C'.

"We've had men in here all week, decorating the place for you. It looks quite lovely actually, and all free! I didn't have to spend a penny!" She giggled a little, a giggle no woman her age should be able to get away with, but her bubbly character and warm smile meant she could.

"I'd been meaning to do it up for ages, but when Gregory told me he'd get it done, free of charge I practically jumped at the chance." She unlocked the door and swung it open. Letting me walk in first.

I looked around and was pleasantly surprised. It was a small, and dark but with enough light fittings around to keep it feeling warm. That and the beautiful fireplace, the chimney was just exposed brickwork, but the rest of the room was decorated with a blue and dark purple wallpaper, a sort of repeated pattern. It wasn't filled with gleaming new ikea furniture, never before used sofas or modern art. It was decorated like a real home. An old worn arm chair, a sofa that looked like it belonged in the 80's with it's 'state of the art' design and scattered floral pillows. A large, clock above the fire, a navy blue shaggy carpet and a slightly old TV. Books and trinkets on the shelves that looked like they'd been passed down, used more often than not and still sentimental. It was lovely. Really truly lovely. I felt at home already, which both comforted and shocked me. Nothing in this flat was familiar, none of it looked like anything I'd owned before, but it felt like it was home.

"They've done a lovely job." Mrs Hudson sighed.

"Who's things are these, Mrs Hudson?" I asked, picking up a little stone carved Buddha from one of the shelves.

"Well, Gregory said that they'd bought most of it from charity shops, second hand furniture shops. Some of it's new of course, but it's all yours now." She smiled up at me as I looked around again. "You do like it, don't you?" she sounded worried, as if it was her fault whether I did or not.

"I love it, Mrs Hudson. Thank you."

"Oh," She started, a little blush creeping onto her cheeks. "I didn't really do a thing."

"But you've welcomed me here without knowing what trouble I might bring and that is more than enough." I smiled again.

"Oh, you can't possibly bring any more trouble than the couple upstairs do, dear!" I didn't want to tell her that I doubted they were currently being threatened by 'The Butcher', England's most notorious serial killer in over 40 years.

"I just do hope you like the violin…" She said cryptically as she lead me through the rest of the flat.

**_Flashback 1 hour…_**

_I sat, staring at the man in front of me; D.I Lestrade he'd introduced himself as not 5 minutes ago. The sheer fact I was again sat in a Police station, was intimidating enough, regardless of the fact it was Scotland Yard, of all places. But it was the reason I was here that had my hands shaking in my lap and my heart beat sounding in my ears._

_I'd already spent the past 3 days in a safe house, it was more like a jail cell, but they weren't going to it that. One of the officers had brought me here, explaining that I was a high priority witness now. That didn't even sound nice, it was the nicest name they'd come up with, and it still sounded like a death sentence. _

_"I'm sure you're well aware of the situation, Miss Wells?" The D.I started, leaning back on his desk as I nodded. _

_"The situation in which the psychopathic serial killer that tried to murder me has escaped from prison?" I asked sarcastically, my voice broke a little. Why I'd said it I have no idea, something inside me was bored of being the victim. "That situation?"_

_"Yes…that situation." He said slowly, looking at me as if he were afraid I'd gone insane, before seeming to come to the conclusion I was stable for the moment, he continued. "Anyway, we think it's best to put you under protection." He stopped, seeming to think I might want to talk, when I didn't he carried on. "We've decided the best possible place for you to be right now is somewhere completely meaningless to you, no family, no friends, no history. So we're placing you in the City." This time I nodded when he spoke. "It's not a safe house as such, but you'll be living under the same roof as two men I work very closely with, I trust them implicitly. And as I make regular visits to the two of them, it won't seem odd to anyone that I visit the address when I come to check on you."_

_I nodded. Unable to object or question anything he'd said. I wasn't even sure I could verbalise a thought if I had one at that moment. Now that it had really hit me, my sarcastic front had fizzled away leaving me feeling like a vulnerable child. _

_"We've already changed your identity. Everything. Your name, your family, where you grew up, what you do, who you know, why you're here. Everything is new and everything that was linkable to Adrienne Well's is now gone. He has no way of knowing where you are." He comforted._

_"What's my new name?" I asked, even in this nightmare situation, an odd curiosity inside me wanted to know I at least had a decent new name._

_"Meghan Jane Bennett." He confirmed after checking it in a file. It wasn't the best name I'd heard, but it wasn't the worst either. "Your birthday is now on the 12th of the 4th of 1989, we've just switched the month and the day around, same year." He said, explaining it without the patronising tone I found policeman often used. It wouldn't be hard to remember, seeing as my real birthday was the 4th of the 12th._

_"You were born and raised in Eastbourne by your parents Jane Moira Bennett and Frank Steven Bennett, your mother's a nurse and your father is a mechanic. You attended St Andrew's, graduating with GCSE's in Science, Math, English, Geography, Art, History and PE." He sighed seeming bored of reading my new life story. "You can have a read through this later, everything you'll need is in here. Passport, Drivers License, Birth Certificate, Debit Cards, a few fake bank statements, junk mail, bills, a phone, things you should keep in the flat, just in case." He didn't finish, I didn't want to know what the 'just in case' was._

_"We've kitted out your flat, and placed things around it, little trinkets, photo's, presents, sentimental things too. Just to add to the illusion. But other than that I don't think there's a lot else for now." He smiled, and for once it was just a smile. No dumb sympathy, no forced efforts. Just a simple smile, which I easily returned._

_"Thank you, Detective." I stood a little shakily and smiled again. _

_"Your new Landlady, Mrs Hudson is expecting you, she knows you're under protection, but that's all we've told her. Your upstairs neighbours don't know a thing about you, so it's your choice to tell them or not." _

_We were already walking down the hall, people watching me with the 'aww, are you being threatened by psycho killer? Oh poor little you. Here, have a biscuit.'._

_"Is it safe to tell them?" Not that I was planning on telling anyone._

_"If you chose to tell anyone in London, I'd suggest Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Yes."_

_"Sherlock?" Who names their kid Sherlock? But then, who am I to talk, my names Adrienne. Wait, no it's Meghan. _

_"Yes, he's quite a character. He's lacking in a few social graces, but his intentions are good."_

_"That freak's about as welcoming as a swarm of hornets!" A women in the corridor suddenly input as we walked past. _

_"Thank you, Donovan." Lestrade sighed as he spoke. Clearly she wasn't one for containing her feelings towards Mr Holmes. "That's Sally, I might send her around to check on you every now and then." Wonderful. I already didn't like Sally Donovan and her intruding judgements. _

_"OK sure." When we were further away he whispered._

_"I'll try not to though, she can be a right cow." I looked up at the 'ever professional' D.I Lestrade, he just winked and carried on walking towards the front of the building. We stopped just outside, it was cold and rainy, typical London morning. I pulled my coat tighter around me._

_"You really have nothing to worry about Miss Bennett." I almost corrected him, then remembered my new name. "I promise you no harm will come to you under our protection."_

_He extended his hand, I looked at it for a moment, before taking it and giving it an awkward wobbly shake. He was holding a card, intending for me to take it, which I did, checking it quickly it read 'Detective Inspector Lestrade - Scotland Yard' and a number, I slid it into my pocket._

___"Thank you so much, Mr Lestrade."_

_"Don't mention it, and please call me Greg." _

_"Will do." I lowered myself into the waiting unmarked police car, an officer already inside._

_"I hope you like your new flat!" He said, backing away a little. "Good luck with Sherlock." He said quieter, I'm not even sure I was meant to hear it, but it was too late to ask as we pulled away, heading towards 221 Baker Street._

**_Flash foward to present..._**

**__**"Now," Mrs Hudson started as we got to the last room in the flat; the kitchen. The rest of it had been decorated very much the same, the bedroom was sweet and not girly how I'd imagine they'd do it. It was decorated with old movie posters and orangey coloured paint. "this is obviously the kitchen, most of the stuff in here is new. Don't want to end up with some old ladies cooking utensils now, do you?" She winked and walked over to the fridge.

"You've got all the basics, washing machine, cooker, microwave, fridge." She pulled open the door and shrieked when she looked inside.

"Oh Good heavens!" She pressed a hand to her chest and slammed the door shut. Making me jump at her sudden reaction. "I'm so awfully sorry, dear. Don't look, I'll be right back." She smiled sweetly before her brow creased and she stomped (as best an older woman could) back out the flat.

"Sherlock Holmes! What have I told you about using other people's fridges for your experiments!" She shouted as I heard her little feet march up the stairs above.

I didn't hear a reply as I stared at the fridge. What was in there? My curiosity always got the better of me. As I heard Mrs Hudson telling someone off a few levels above, I pulled open the fridge. Only to wish I had never looked.

In the middle of the top shelf sat a jar. Not just a jar, no. This jar was filled with eyeballs. Yes, you heard me. Eyeballs. All floating around in a thick, brownish liquid. I couldn't shut the door as I stared. What if this wasn't Sherlock Holmes' experiment? What if _he'd_ already found me? I didn't have time to panic as I heard voices drawing closer.

"Oh Mrs Hudson, they're only eyeballs!" A deep voice stated with a sigh, as if the sentence was completely normal.

"Yes but they're in our new tenants fridge!" Mrs Hudson sounded exasperated, and not from climbing up and down the stairs. "Are you trying to scare her off?"

"Only if she's a moron." The deep voice muttered as a tall slim figure appeared round the corner. He stopped suddenly, looking directly at me with intense blue eyes. I barely noticed Mrs Hudson follow after him until she'd spoken.

"Sherlock, this is Meghan Bennett. Meghan, this is Sherlock Holmes." She introduced with an apologetic smile.

"It's nice to meet you." I said quietly, still holding the door of the fridge open.

"I'm sure it isn't. The first and so far only thing you know about me is that I conduct experiments which occasionally involve human body parts." He said, almost robotically with a slight frown as he seemed to examine my entire body. "Your dilated pupils and paled skin suggest that you're actually frightened."

His eyes finally came back to meet mine and he frowned again. What? What was I doing wrong?!

"Well, can you blame me? It's not everyday you're welcomed to a new home with a dozen eyeballs in your fridge." I said a little more sarcastically than intended. Mrs Hudson's eyes widened a little but Sherlock just smirked.

"Quite." His eyes bore into me like he was trying to see my very soul. "Who are you?"

"...Meghan Bennett." I answered, surely he'd heard my name.

"No there's something more." His eyebrows creased further. "But what is it..."

"Sherlock, someone's sent us a new case! Something about a woman found dead, covered in odd speckles..." Another voice called from the hallway. "Where are you?!" Sherlock didn't answer as he stared at me.

"Sherlock! You're being rude." Mrs Hudson scalded, probably sensing my discomfort. "Take those eyes and go!" That's a sentence I never thought I'd hear. He stopped staring and stepped forward, reaching around the door he picked up the jar, the eyes bobbling about as he moved it.

Without another word he left the kitchen through one door as another man appeared through the other.

"Mrs Hudson have you seen..oh!" He said, suddenly noticing me by the fridge. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you at first. You must be our new neighbour. I'm John Watson." He smiled welcomingly and stuck his hand out. I shook it without question. This man practically radiated trust.

"I'm Meghan, Meghan Bennett. I've already met your boyfriend." I smiled, but his dropped as he let go of my hand.

"He's not my boyfriend!" He insisted, it seemed I wasn't the only one who'd misread two men living together in a small flat. "He's just my friend. I'm totally 100% not gay."

"Oh, right, sorry about -"

"Not that I have a problem with gay people though!" He said, trying to insure I didn't think he was homophobic. "Just. Not. Gay." He smiled nervously and scratched his head.

"Got it." I nodded and he turned to Mrs Hudson.

"Sherlock?" He said in a questioning tone.

"He's just collected his eyeballs." She said calmly. John just nodded again. What insane asylum had I unknowingly been convicted to here where talk of eyeballs in jars was usual everyday chit chat?!

"He didn't leave them in your fridge again?"

"Nope. He left them in Miss Bennett's." Mrs Hudson said disapprovingly.

John turned to me with a slight grimace.

"I'm so sorry." He said genuinely, as if Sherlock was a crazy child he felt he had to apologise on behalf of. "He's awful at first impressions, we're not murders or anything like that. Sherlock's a Detective and I'm a Doctor." That makes more sense. I'm still not sure as to why a detective has eyeballs in a fridge, but that would explain how Lestrade knew him.

"Oh."

"Yeah." He laughed a little. "So if there's anything...abnormal around here. It's probably just us and our work." He nodded. "I've got to go find Sherlock." He said, already stepping away. "But it was lovely meeting you Miss Bennett. Please stop by if you need anything."

"You too Mr Watson. I will, but only if you call me Meghan." I smiled as he inched towards the door.

"I will if you call me John!" He said before hurrying out after Sherlock.

After a few moments Mrs Hudson turned to me.

"Well, welcome to Baker Street."

**I hope you like it!  
**

**In case you're wondering the case they'd been sent was 'The Speckled Blonde' A.K.A 'The Speckled Band' I loved that one.**

**Please review and thanks for reading!**


	3. Headlines

After the odd introduction to my new 'not gay!' neighbours, I'd said many thank you's to Mrs Hudson as she bustled towards the door, promising she'd listen if I ever needed a talk, that was before she left to go make tea for Sherlock and John. Assuring me she's 'not a housekeeper' she just likes looking after her boys.

'You should come up and have tea with them!' She'd said. 'A pretty little thing like you should make friends!'

Oh not this, my mother had done this enough in my past.

'They're really nice young men, Sherlocks a little off, and aren't his cheekbones pointy!?' She said. Lord knows it took me a few minutes to assure her I'd go up and get to know them at some point.

But after I'd all but shooed her away, I'd unpacked my clothes, hidden the picture of my parents in a draw by my bed and was already bored. I'd looked around my flat, making up little stories for each of the sentimental things Lestrade had, had placed here. Just in case someone asked. I'd looked over my 'life story' it was all basic and vague and I'd have to elaborate a lot for it to be convincing, but I'd gotten the gist. And now I had nothing left to do.

Well, that was until I'd found a laptop in the draw next to my bed. It wasn't new, or fancy, the 'H' button needed to be tapped a little harder than the others, but it was something to keep me entertained. I switched it on and was relieved to find it was already connected to the internet. Thank God! What would a girl like me do without blogs?

But before I knew it I was typing in his name. That psycho bastard's name. I hadn't been updated on the story since I'd found out he'd escaped prison. He wasn't hard to find. The search engine came up with millions of different answers to his name;

**'THE BUTCHER ESCAPES!'**

**'DR PETERSON BACK FOR BLOOD!'**

**'THE BUTCHER HACKS WAY TO FREEDOM!'**

I took a deep breath. I had to read it, I needed to know what was going on. I clicked on one of the links to an online newspaper, dated 3 days ago. Knowing they'd more or less be the same story, regardless of the headline.

**_'THE BUTCHER BACK FOR 24!_**

_**4 years ago Dr Christopher Ivan Richards A.K.A 'The Butcher' was charged with the murder, torture and rape of 23 victims and the attempted murder of an unnamed 24th victim, only known as 'Patient 24' the name in which Richards refers to his last victim as.** _

**_'Patient 24's' life was saved by a call she'd unknowingly made to the local Dorset Police during the kidnapping and assault by Richards. Unknown to him until the police raided the address they'd tracked the call to. The victim was saved as they arrested Richards. Although he'd inflicted grievous bodily harm to her, 'Patient 24' survived the experience and gave anonymous evidence against the serial killer, but was never identified at the trials. The identity of 'Patient 24' is still unknown to the public, but her evidence along with the body parts and 'minced' hearts found in the basement, and around the estate of Richards' farmhouse were used against him in court, earning him a life sentence and 20 years of solitary confinement in HMP Wakefield._**

**_Early this morning it was reported that the former Surgeon killed 4 prison guards during his break for freedom, from one of England's most 'secure' prisons; HMP Wakefield. Richards killed the so far, unidentified guards in much the same way as his earlier victims: Cutting a 5 inch line across the left of their chest with a blade, then making incisions across the guard's main arteries, resulting in death by severe blood lose. It's thought that Richards used injections to sedate the guards before killing them. A thorough investigation is currently being held as to where Richards acquired such equipment whilst in solitary confinement. _**

**_Although Richards was unable to finish his murder ritual of chopping off various body parts and mincing the heart into a thick, gelatinous mess, which he'd usual dispose of in the woods around his Dorset home. It's thought that Richards has added the 4 men to the much prided tally chart on his chest, a score he creates by carving a new digit into his skin to keep track of his victims after each murder. _**

**_Upon further investigation into the serial killer's cell. The words '24 will be counted' were found carved into the concert walls, surrounded by recent images of 'Patient 24'. Thought to have been sent to Richards by an unknown accomplice, suspected of being disguised as a prison guard. Possibly the same person that supplied Richards with the murder weapons for his break to freedom. The images of 'Patient 24' are not to be released to the press, in a bid to protect the victims identity. _**

**_'The Butcher' has made it obvious that he intends to finish his work and kill 'Patient 24' who is currently thought to be under police protection. But Detective Inspector Mills of the Dorset Police has stated 'We know his habits, intentions and his style. We are certain we will have Richards back in the cell he belongs before any harm comes to 'Patient 24'.' He's also asked the public to keep a look out for the man in the image at the bottom of the page. He warns:'If you see Richards, do not make any effort to communicate with him, do not approach him as he is an unstable, unpredictable threat to the public.' But to instead phone the police with his whereabouts._**

**_But will the police manage to track Richards down before he finished what he started 4 years ago? Before he kills his final patient? It remains a mystery as we're asked to keep a look out for the notorious serial killer of the century. _**

**_Written by: Maria Brisken'_**

I hadn't realised I'd been shaking until I stopped reading. I'd skipped the image of him at the bottom of the article. Already having his face etched into my brain, I'd want a fresh reminder of the monsters face.

It was real. Everything that had happened in the last few days wasn't a nightmare, it wasn't a practise. It was real. He'd escaped and he was coming for me; Patient 24. I couldn't say it without hearing his voice. I shut the laptop lid. I breathed heavily.

My eyes instantly travelled to my left wrist were my scar was barely visible. Only a small line now. I traced my fingers over the one on my neck, it was much the same as the one of my wrist. You'd only know it was there if you knew what you were looking for. The one on my inner thigh had gone But it was the scar across my chest would never truly heal. I stepped over to the plain oval mirror beside my bed and pulled the top of my shirt down, just enough to see it. It was a perfect line. A perfect, slightly indented pink line diagonally sat across the top of my left breast. It shined slightly in the light as I ran my fingers over it. A constant reminder of that night almost 5 years ago.

"You will be counted." I said to myself in the mirror. The words had been playing over in my mind since I first found out he'd escaped.

As I looked at my reflection, I barely recognised myself. After sending the last 4 years trying to build my life back up, moving on, forgetting about that night. It had all come crashing back down the minute the police had come round to collect me. My eyes were void of anything, the normal bright green was dull and lifeless as I stared at myself.

A knock at the door stopped me from thinking any further as I readjusted my shirt and hurried to answer it. Checking through the peephole first, just to find an already smiling John Watson on the other side. I swung open the door and grinned.

"Meghan, hi!" He bumbled, seeming to not think I'd even answer the door. "I was err, wondering if you'd like to come upstairs for some tea?" He asked hopefully. Tea with my new 'totally 100% not gay' neighbours?

"You don't have to…" He started, seeming to take my silence as a negative thing.

"No, no. I'd love to." I smiled, grabbed my keys and shut the door behind me.

"Brilliant! Sherlock's driving me crazy, and I thought I better further explain exactly what we do before you go off worrying that we're serial killers or something." He rambled as we went upstairs. Ha! Yeah, that would be funny, Lestrade placed me with two serial killers to protect me from the one that was currently trying to kill me, what a hoot that would be! I thought to myself as John showed me into the flat.

It was chaos. I mean I'm not the tidiest of people, but it was mayhem. Stacks and stacks of..things! Everything, all in odd clutters that must be organised to someone. Nothing in order or in place, it was a home of convenience, not comfort, clearly.

"Sherlock?!" John called, with no reply. "Would you answer me at least _once_, please?!"

"What is it, John?" Sherlock's unmistakable voice came from down the hall. He sounded bored already.

"Meghan's here."

"Who?"

"Meghan? You know, our new neighbour? The one you met about an hour ago?" John said giving me an apologetic smile. We walked through to the living room, it was a good sized room with big floor to ceiling windows, a fireplace, odd collections of things that did match each other. Was that a human skull?!

"Oh yes, the insomniac." Sherlock said, from the corner of the room. He sat at a desk, staring at a laptop screen. His fingers strumming the desk surface.

"Sorry?" I said without thinking.

"How do you have your tea?" John asked as I stared at Sherlock.

"What? Oh! Erm, white, 2 sugars please." I smiled before turning back to the tall man at the desk.

"You have insomnia." He said, looking up from his laptop for a split second, looking me over quickly before looking back at the screen.

"How on earth do you know I have insomnia?" I asked suspiciously. Partially outraged, had he looked me up? No, he couldn't have! Lestrade covered my past, I was virtually unfindable.

Sherlock sighed before standing up from his seat and walking over, stopping a few feet in front of me.

"Firstly your make-up doesn't hide the bags under your eyes as well as you think it does. They're not always there, that's why you haven't found a good enough product to cover them. Which suggests you haven't always suffered with insomnia, but you've had it before. There's no obvious signs that you have used anything medicinal to help you sleep, which means you don't want to bother a Doctor about it, which also suggests you don't tend to like sleeping, so you accept your current inability to regularly sleep. This means there's a reason you don't like to sleep but I'm not even going to guess as to what stops you from sleeping peacefully. You're hard enough to read without trying to get into your head." He sighed, frowning a little in what looked like self frustration.

I stood staring up at his face, as he stared back, seeming to try and read me with a look.

"How the hell did you do that?" I asked in a slightly shocked whisper.

"It's his party trick." John said, dropping onto the sofa next to us. Sherlocks eyes narrowed slightly as he turned to John.

"_Stop_ calling it a party trick." He said before turning back to the desk.

"Fine." John said with a mischievous grin as I joined him on the sofa. He liked teasing the oddly intimidating giant at the desk. "Sherlock possesses the ability to deduce a lot of things about a person just a look."

"It's one of my talents."

"It's bloody irritating, that's what it is." John replied as Sherlock smirked down at his laptop screen. "That's how he knew you have insomnia."

"Oh right." I said looking between the two as John poured a cup of tea. "That's pretty impressive."

Sherlock snorted at my compliment.

"Don't play to his ego, it's too big for him already." John said quietly, but Sherlock seemed to hear as his eyes glared a little harder at the laptop screen. "Wait, did you say she's hard to read?" John asked out of no where, handing me the tea.

"Oh do keep up John." Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes. "Yes."

"You find her hard to read?" He asked looking like he didn't believe Sherlock. What was wrong with that? Was I broken or something?

"Did you hit your head on the way back up here?" Sherlock asked. "Yes, John! She's a bloody mystery! All I've worked out is the insomnia, somethings happened recently that's scared her and that she doesn't like tactile gestures!"

"And that's it?" John asked. Did they even know I was still in the room? And how the hell could he tell I don't like being touched?

"Yes, John. Not everyone's as much of an open book as you and Mrs Hudson."

"But you can read everyone." John said quietly. Looking over at me slightly confused.

"Oh, shut up, John." Sherlock said slightly angrily. He clearly wasn't use to not being able to do something. He stood up, took one of the tea's John had poured and stormed off, slamming a door shortly after disappearing.

"Well erm…" I started, feeling a little awkward that I'd caused an argument, which resulted in grown man stropping in what I assumed was his bedroom.

"Sorry about that. It's just it's quite odd for him not to be able to deduce more than that from someone." John apologised, sitting back on the sofa. Not seeming phased by the argument.

"Does that mean there's something wrong with me?"

"No, no! Of course not, you're just kind of closed off." He reassured, taking a swig of tea. "He'll be fine. Strops all the time."

I laughed a little as John rolled his eyes. For two straight men who were purely just friends, they do act like a married couple. I sat back, feeling comfortable in the odd home. I crossed my legs and let the warm cup heat my hands.

"So where are you from, Meghan?" John asked casually. Don't say Dorchester!

"Eastbourne, just down south."

"Near Brighton?"

"Yep. Moved up here for a change of scenery." I smiled and sipped my tea. That was believable, right? Apparently it was as John nodded.

"Yeah, pretty different from the seaside here." He laughed a little. "So what did you do in Eastbourne?"

"I was an art teacher, it was only primary school. Easy as, basically just made finger paintings and cardboard robots every day." I smiled. As far as my job went, it wasn't a total lie. I actually use to work in a pre-school, which was nearly the same thing, painting and drawing and making things with the kids for them to take home for their parents to add to the pile of unidentifiable box sculptures.

"Oh, why'd you leave. It sounds good?" John was easy to talk to. He just had a trusting face and he actually listened. He wasn't just asking for the show of it, for the polite gesture. He was listening.

"The kids grow up, I hated staying in the same place while they all left. I loved pretty much all of the kids and every year they'd leave it was a little heartbreaking." I said sincerely. That part was true too. It seems the police were more clever with my new identity than I thought. It was all close to the truth without being obvious.

"That does sound pretty rough." He decided. "So totally fresh start up here then?"

"Yep. I was thinking about applying for a job at one of the high schools. I can't imagine it's very hard saying goodbye to teenagers after a year or two."

"Especially not the little shits that live around here." John said with a grin, I laughed at him and took another swig of tea.

"So where do you work, Dr Watson?" I asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"There's a surgery I do the odd shift at, when I'm not off chasing criminals with Sherlock that is."

"Wait, so you help Sherlock with his cases?" I asked, picking up a biscuit and nibbling on it.

"Yes. See he's sort of not an official Detective really, he's a Consulting Detective. The only one in the world in fact. Basically he's called in when the officials can't work out what's going on, or when they need a little more help."

"Or when Anderson's messed up!" The sound of Sherlocks voice suddenly coming from the corridor just round the corner made me jump. He appeared in the living room for a moment only to disappear again seconds later.

"Yes. Or that." He scowled a little at were Sherlock had disappeared. "But we often get asked to take private cases, some are simple are some are really…different."

"Oh really what like?"

"Well," He started, seeming a bit more animated as he got ready to tell me. "we've just accepted a case this morning, a woman was found dead in her bed, covered in these odd splotches, like speckles. She got home the night before, a little bit drunk, but quite sober in comparison to what she could have been apparently. Anyway, she has a bath and goes to bed. But the bedroom was completely sealed off, no one in or out in the night and they've ruled out natural death. We're going to look at the body later."

"That sounds interesting." I mused finishing off the biscuit.

"It is actually." He smiled, seeming happy I understood and didn't freak out at his excitement. "In a morbid sort of way, it's fascinating really."

"Well good luck anyway."

"Thanks, no doubt Sherlock'll solve it in seconds. Half the time were barely there for 5 minutes before he's worked out the motive, method and killer." He said, sounding vaguely irritated. But there was clear underlining admiration for the beanpole currently hiding out in his bedroom. "I've actually got a blog about our cases."

"Really?" He nodded and jumped up from the sofa, grabbing another laptop from the kitchen and coming back opening up a page. His name at the top of the screen and a little picture of him.

"Oh that's pretty cool." I grinned, looking over some of the case names. 'The Woman' 'The Hounds of Baskerville' 'The Six Thatchers'. "And you've solved all of these?"

"Pretty much, yeah." He smiled proudly.

"That's brilliant."

"Thanks, I can't really take any credit, it's mostly Sherlock." He said modestly, by this point Sherlock had started moving things around his room noisily. God knows what he was doing in there.

"But I'm sure you're more than helpful." I grinned as he blushed a little. Clearly not use to getting recognition for his work.

"John! We're going now!" Sherlock shouted, suddenly from the hallway, before we heard his feet hurrying down the stairs.

"Why?"

"I'm bored!" Sherlock shouted before the front door opened.

"I guess I'll be off then." John sighed calmed, lowered his cup to the coffee table and smiled. I stood and followed him out, he grabbed his coat and shut the door behind us.

"Well, the short tea break was nice, we'll have to spend another 10 minutes together soon." I smiled as I hoped off the bottom step.

"Yes it was, maybe we could meet for 15 minutes next time!" He rolled his eyes and headed towards the door.

"Ooh, that sounds like pushing it, Mr Watson. Do you even have that much time to spare?" I asked as he opened the door, just in time to see Sherlock hail a taxi, shooting an impatient look towards John as the car pulled up.

"I don't think so. Not since I moved in." We both laughed as he checked his pockets. Presumably for his keys or phone.

"Good luck!" He grinned at me and went to leave but stopped and turned to face me again.

"You know, Meghan. I think I'm going to like having you here." I grinned as Sherlock called for John, he hurried out leaving me on my own. It wasn't until I got back to my flat and looked at the laptop that I realised for 10 minutes I'd completely forgotten about Dr Christopher Ivan Richards.

**Hope you like it! **

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. The Reporter

**I'm so happy you guys already like it. I hope it's not confusing, if it is let me know and I'll try and straighten the crappy bits out.**

**I'm going to change it to a 'M' rated, 'cause it's going to get grosser and there might even be some sexy scenes ;) **

**Thanks for your reviews and feedback I love it! **

**Enjoy!**

The next day was pretty good. You know, as good as a day can be when at any moment you could be taken away to be made into dog food. You know.

But it was. I'd barely slept, but that was normal now. Partly due to my 'insomnia' as Sherlock had labelled it, and the other part due to the new sounds around me. Where as the town I use to live in, my old home, it use to be almost deathly silent at night, just the odd bird or car. But London was as much alive at night as it was in the day time. Sirens, Drunk people, other noises that could range from a cat on a bin to a gun shot, but it was alive and that was oddly calming as I lay on my bed that night.

This morning I went for an early walk, if the rest of London was awake, why shouldn't I be? I found a 24 hours convenience shop and brought the essentials, and a slightly sad looking bunch of flowers which I later placed in a large jar on the table. God were they sad looking flowers.

I'd spent the earlier part of the day going over my life story again, drumming it in so I didn't make a mistake. As much as Lestrade had told be Sherlock and John could be trusted with my secret, I didn't want them to know, the less people who know, the better. Not that I didn't trust them, but if I told them, then that would be two more people, giving me that knowing concerned look. Well, John would, I have a feeling Sherlock would be more interested in the event everyone else tried to avoid talking about around me than giving me a shoulder to cry on. But John would more than likely join everyone else that treats you like a God damn doll, making sure they didn't say the wrong thing or ask the wrong question. Not that I could hold that against him, it was a normal reaction, whether it was just going through the motions or really heartfelt, most people can't help but change around you. And right now I was just their new neighbour. Their new neighbour who's had a normal life, no threats, no serial killers. Just Meghan Bennett from Eastbourne.

I liked that. At first I thought changing my identity was going to mean losing me, losing who I am. But instead it's given me a fresh start, if I can convince everyone around me that I'm Meghan Bennett, then why can't I convince myself?

From that moment on, which was roughly 1.30, I felt different. I wasn't moping around, feeling sorry for myself like everyone else does. I was Meghan. Meghan Bennett, a girl that's all the things I like about myself, without the memories, just new ones that I could make up: I'd grown up on the coast, worked in a florists when I was 14, knocked my front teeth out when I was riding my bike at 6. My parents brought me a fish that I named Freddie which Mum's cat Benji ate a year later. My best friends, Mandy and Soph convinced me crimping my hair was a great idea! I was Meghan Bennett as I danced around the house listening to radio, singing badly to the songs I knew while finding the broom made an excellent dance partner.

That was all brilliant, I felt like a real, happy, normal person again. Until the news at 5 snapped me out of my alter ego's enviable existence.

"Main news story today: 'The Butcher' kills first victim since prison break."

The serious sounding reported said. Effectively making me drop my broom and rush to the old fashioned radio on the counter. Turning the volume up with a morbid curiosity.

"Dr Christopher Ivan Richards otherwise known as 'The Butcher' has claimed his first victim since his bloody breakout of HMP Wakefield, 5 days ago. Maria Brisken, aged 26 was murdered in the same way as Richards previous 23 victims..."

"I've heard that name before!" I said, to no one but my rejected dance partner broom, on the floor. Why do I know that name!?

"…Instead of using his usual Dorchester farmhouse, Richards improvised, using an abandoned cabin in the New Forest, near Brisken's home in Eastleigh. Her body was found in the cabin whereas her minced heart and as of yet unidentified limbs where found a short distance from the cabin by a local resident. Maria Brisken, a reporter for the BBC South had recently written an article about Richards, although his previous targets have never been linked, the police seem to think Richards intentionally targeted Brisken. This recent murder has brought Richards body count up to 28, while 'Patient 24' is still under threat from the serial killer. D.C.I Chalcroft, the detective currently on Miss Brisken's case has yet to make a statement…."

Fuck. As the news reporter went on to inform the nation of a scandal at a God damn dog show, I rushed through the flat to my laptop. I know that name! I flipped open the screen, I'd left it on the article I'd read yesterday, scrolling down, my stomach dropped and I felt sick.

Maria Brisken was the reporter who'd written the article I'd read. I read her name over and over again. What if he knows!? Out of every woman he could have killed, everyone! He killed her! He must know! How does he know?! What if he already knows where I am!?

I heard my breathing loudly, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I slammed the laptop lid and pulled my knees to my chest.

He's going to find me. It's no coincidence. He killed her to get to me! Out of all the articles about him I picked that one. No, that's no coincidence.

My thoughts were a maddening blur as I sat on my bed. Meghan had gone, just leaving the shell of Adrienne Well's in her joyous, carefree wake. Who was I kidding, as much as I'd love to pretend it was so easy to just flip a switch and be a whole new person. I couldn't. Not until Richards was back in prison.

That didn't stop him last time.

The ever optimistic voice in my head reminded me. I sighed and looked over into my mirror. I'm never going to be Meghan. Never going to be free of that son of a bitch, psycho!

As suddenly as it wasn't there, it was. This anger that I hadn't felt about him in years. I jumped up from my bed and shouted angrily. Why me!? Why did he choose me!?

I pushed the books on my shelf onto the floor, hitting the ground with little thuds.

Why did he choose to torment _me_?!

I threw all my stupid god damn cushions at the wall, with no real effect.

Why can't he leave me alone!?

That's when I found my mirror. I grabbed the alarm clock from the bed stand and threw it. Watching in a sick satisfaction as it hit the mirror shattering it, shards dropped to the floor while others hung limply from the screws in the wall.

"Why couldn't he have finished the job then?"

I asked out loud, so quietly I barely heard it as my eyes welled up. I hated this stage. The stage I often found myself at, hating that he didn't get the chance to finish me off the first time. The stage where I considered death a better alternative to this fearful existence he'd left me in. It was horrible. I almost envy the other victims. That is until I remember the way in which he kills them.

Meghan has left the building.

.

An hour later, after I'd cleared up the mirror and restacked the books, neatened up the pillows I heard a knock. I shook myself up, wiping my eyes in case there were any tears left and slapped a smile on and walked over to the door.

I pulled it open this time without checking, not caring at this moment in time whether it was even the grim reaper himself.

"Hi!" I looked up to find a smiley John Watson, holding a carrier bag.

"Evening John, what's up?" I had become a near expert at hiding my feelings, as I casually leaned against the door frame and smiled welcomingly.

"Well, we've just got back from checking out that case, and we were wondering whether you'd like to join us for a 'Welcome to Baker Street' dinner." He held up the carrier bag, the smell of chinese food hit me, a rumble in my stomach making me realise I hadn't eaten today.

"Really?" I asked him in slight disbelief that Sherlock had wanted me over for a 'Welcome' dinner.

"Well, I was wondering." He smiled sweetly.

"I'd love to!" I grabbed my keys off the living room cabinet and shut the door behind me, following John up the stairs. "So how'd it go?"

"The case? It didn't go as well as usual actually. The coroner found poison in her system. See, we found these puncture wounds on her ankle."

"An animal bite?"

"Exactly. A snake to be exact." He said with a grin. "So we asked around, to see if any snakes had gone missing from the Zoo's near the home, but none had." He twisted the key in the lock and we walked in. Sherlock no where to be seen. "Then we found out her fiance owns snakes, so of course we assumed it to be him, but the bite marks didn't match up to any of his snakes."

"And now you're stuck?" I asked, helping him clear a space on the counter for the plates and food.

"And now we're stuck." He confirmed.

"John!" That already familiar voice echoed through the flat.

"Oh there he is." John said under his breath. I sniggered at him as we opened up the food containers.

"John!"

"I'm in the kitchen, why don't you just look for me instead of shouting?!" John shouted back, making his point seem a little less valid. There was a loud sigh from somewhere in the flat, followed by a mildly irritated Sherlock appearing in the doorway. Johns proud grin didn't go unnoticed.

"Oh, you're here." Sherlock said, sounding disinterested but still looking me over. If I didn't know he had some super brian that meant he could work people out by looking at them, I'd have thought he was checking me out. Not Sherlock.

"Sherlock!" John scalded. "Do you want a beer Meghan?"

"Yes please." I grinned, he pulled out two corona's from the fridge, handing me one once he'd popped the lid. "Thanks."

"Are you going to be polite, Sherlock?" John asked a little patronisingly as we dished up food.

"Fine." He said before turning to me and giving me a big fake smile. "Good evening, Meghan. How are you on this fine day?" He gestured to the window where outside the rain was coming down in thick sheets.

"Wonderful, thanks for asking."

"You're not." Sherlock said, somehow seeing through my well rehearsed. "You're trying to hi-"

"Sherlock don't start." John warned, scooping up a little mountain of fried rice as I helped myself to some noodles.

"You asked me to make pointless pleasantries." He defended, not making a move to take any food. God knows he looked like he could do with some. You'd find more fat on a a chicken bone.

"Are you always this charming?" I asked confidently, taking a bite of a prawn cracker and following John into the living room. All I heard was a grumble from Sherlock as John and I sat on the sofa with our dinner.

"Welcome to Baker Street!" John grinned, holding his bottle up for me to 'clink' mine with.

"Thank you, Doctor." I nodded with a genuine grin at his hospitality. Quite the opposite to Sherlock, who strolled in and sat in one of the arm chairs, picking up a violin that had been sat down the other side of the chair. Hadn't Mrs Hudson said something about a violin?

"So, Sherlock" I started taking a swig of beer. " I hear your case isn't going as well as hoped." I knew it would irritate him. Having only known the man a few days, I already understood why John seemed to enjoy teasing him. He started plucking at the string, tuning it as he scowled a little.

"You think you could do any better?"

"Well." I started, thinking about everything John had told me of the case. "What if it wasn't an animal."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow and looked up at me. "And what do you suppose it was." Both Sherlock and John looked at me expectantly.

Well done! Bravo, bring all this on yourself with your big mouth, I need to learn to shut up.

"What if it was made to look like an animal had poisoned her." Sherlock scoffed but I carried on. "What if someone wanted to frame the fiance?"

"You think someone could have poisoned her and given her false bites?" John asked shoving a piece of chicken into his mouth.

"Well it's possible." I shrugged, scooping up a mouthful of food. Before Sherlock decided to say his piece.

"How? That rooms was locked from the inside, no disturbance, no break ins, no way in without her say so. There wasn't a trace of anyone else having been in the room when she was in there." He said, thinking he'd caught me out with little smug smile. His green/blue eyes daring me to continue.

"What if they didn't need to be." Both looked at me with confusion. "I mean you said she had a bath before she went to bed, right?" I asked John, his mouthful of food as he nodded. "So what if someone poisoned the water, or lined the bath or put something in the s-"

"The soap!" Sherlock said suddenly, finishing my sentence excitedly. John almost choked on his chow mien. Sherlock started pacing, the violin swinging from his slender index finger. Jesus, does this guy need to eat something.

"Roylott's soap?" John asked, confusing me. "But he genuinely seemed upset by Julia's death."

"Yes but it's plausible, what if he'd poisoned the soap!?" Sherlock said, waving the violin around. "He could have added something to it. Then made the snake bites on her ankle to lead us to the fiance." He said, striding out of the room a second later.

"You're welcome!" I shouted after him, John winced a little. A few seconds later Sherlock was back, leaning around the door frame.

"I'm sorry?" He asked, his face contorted into a look of disbelief.

"That's ok, but if you ever need help again, just ask." I said as if he'd apologised for not thanking me. I carried on eating while Sherlock stood there for a moment. John bitting his lip to stop himself from laughing. Sherlock made a sound of irritation and slight disgust before storming back out the room.

"You have_ got_ to come round more often."

**I really like this chapter, and I hardly ever really really like anything I post. **

**Hope you're still into it! **

**Thank you!**


	5. Night Terror

**Just a warning, this one's a little grim. ;)**

**Thanks for reading.**

_"What's wrong with you? You're dense in the head, right?" Natalie shouted drunkly into the phone from the other end._**  
**

_"Nothing's __wrong__ with me, just 'cause I'm the only one that doesn't want to screw every single man I see doesn't mean there's anything wrong." Both Natalie and Sam 'oohed' down the phone._

_"How dare you!" Natalie giggled with a hiccup. "I'll have you know I haven't had sex in a week!"_

_"Wow, a whole week?" I gasped sarcastically. "Well, I am sorry, you're practically a nun."_

_"Alright, whatever, you little loser." Natalie then went away, shouting at someone on their end._

_"But Adrienne!" Sam whined, her voice loud down the receiver, especially against the silent night sky._

_"What?" I giggled, still feeling slightly tipsy._

_"Why didn't you go with him?" _

_"Maybe because I didn't want to?" I sighed down the phone as I strolled down the otherwise empty footpath._

_"But he was gorgeous! You should have gone back to his house! Jesus, you're like an anti sex robot or some shit." She grumbled. That's Sam, my oh so literate best friend._

_"Well I'm sorry! Why don't you go find him down if he was that gorgeous?" I asked wobbling on my heels a little. God I hate these pebbled streets sometimes._

_"You know I might?" She laughed with a yawn. "Anyway you little square, I'm going to go get in the shower. Have a nice sexless evening now." _

_"Love you too, Sam. Night!" I hung up before she could abuse me anymore. She's the only person I know who can be such a sarcastic bitch and be so loveable at completely the same time. Before putting my phone in my pocket I dialled '999' I didn't ring it. But ever since my friend Natalie got mugged when she was out walking alone, I thought it was a good idea to be ready. Just in case._

_Holding the phone in my pocket, finger ghosting over the call button I carried on down the dark path. The only sound being heard was the clicking of my stilettos and the gentle wind brushing the leaves in the trees._

_Tonight I'd been out with my best friends to the only decent bar in Dorchester; Hatter's. Dorchester's hardly the party capital of the south, but Hatter's was always a good place for drinks. Sam, my irritatingly beautiful blonde friend and Natalie, my half Japanese, half slut friend had decided it was my night to 'get laid', did I mention they're classy? Anyway, they'd all but shoved me at this 6 ft something guy, dark eyes, dirty blonde hair and the sweetest smile I'd seen in a while. We got talking, but his looks were about as good as it got. Brains the size of a walnut and about as interesting as one too. I know the intention wasn't to find a man to settle down with in the slightly run down bar, but I wasn't going to have even a one night stand with someone who barely understood how to pronounce my name. So I'd left him at the bar, said goodbye to Sam and Natalie and left for home. _

_20 minutes later and here I am. 2 am, in the middle of my sleepy town and I'd started to hear a noise. _

_If you lived in a big town, where people come and go and little noises were normal, you wouldn't be fussed about the occasional thud of a shoe hitting the pebbled stones. But this wasn't a big town. This was my sleepy town where you'd noticed if a fly flew down the street at night. _

_So I checked behind me. Nothing. No sign of anything out of the ordinary. Maybe it was the 7 shots and 6 cocktails I'd drunk, maybe it was just too dark. But if either of those details had been different I might have seen him, a hundred yards away behind the fence. But I didn't so I gripped my phone a little tighter and kept walking, a little faster._

_One street over I heard it again, but a little closer. Again, I checked but nothing. Again I should have noticed the human shaped shadow against the pavement from behind the tree to my left, not 50 yards away. I sped up more, trying to keep quiet in my God damn 5 inch heels. _

_It scared me the most on my walk home when I heard the steps right behind me, if I wasn't listening for it, it would have just sounded like my own steps echoing into the night. But it wasn't. I knew. I held my phone tight, feeling it vibrate a little in my hand as I took a deep breath, gripping my bag I spun around. My heart beat increasing and all the defence I could think of using vanished as I was met with a darkened figure, mere ft behind me. I tried to scream but before I could even open my mouth something struck my head. My vision blurred and I felt my body dropping. Something caught me as I desperately cursed my idiocy. _

_Fucking walnut brain didn't seem so bad now._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_"Wakey wakey…." A voice called as my eyes flitted. What happened? Why does my head hurt? Who's waking me up. I groaned internally. Oh fuck, I went home with the guy from the bar didn't I? I'm going to kill Sam. What is this guys name? Brent…Brian…Billy…Ben! It's Ben! Gees, that could have been even more awkward._

_"I said 'wakey wakey'. I know you're awake. Don't keep me waiting." _

_"Alright! Jesus Christ!" I groaned, for a walnut he wasn't particularly patient. _

_"Oh she's fiesty! The feisty one's are my favourite." No this wasn't Ben from the bar. I remembered. That wasn't the voice that asked me which state Canada was in, in America. Think Adrienne! God, if I didn't go home with him, who did I go home with? I walked home, but I never got home….My eyes opened and I was met by a bright, light shining above my head. I tried to sit up but I was held down. My wrist were constrained and my ankles. My heart started beating a little harder._

_"Ah there we go, that wasn't so tricky was it?" His creepy voice said. Where was it coming from? The light was making it impossible to see anything past it._

_"Who are you?" I asked my voice dry and shaky. Oh god where the hell am I?_

_"Well, my friends use to call me Chris, but the papers and those reporters call me 'The Butcher'." If I wasn't panicking before I was now. Articles and headlines flashed up in my head. 'The Butcher' England's most feared and notorious serial killer in over 40 years. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

_"Ahh, you've heard of me?" He asked, still invisible past the bright light as my eyes darted about for any sign of him. "Tell me Adrienne, do you like my work?"_

_He knows my name! Oh God I should have gone back with Ben! I should have phoned the police when I first heard the footsteps! I should have run!_

_"I asked you a question, Adrienne!" His voice was darker, deeper with anger it sounded like he was trying to contain. "So I expect an answer."_

_"I..I..erm."_

_"Don't stutter now, say what you're thinking." He said through his teeth as he moved around in the shadows._

_"Yes! Yes I like your work." My voice was shaky with terror. In movies people go along with the psycho, right? Oh God I can't even think! My brain was chaos! The rope around my wrists dug in. My breaths came in unstable shudders. _

_"What about it exactly, do you like?" He asked sounding intrigued._

_"I don't know." I said quietly. I heard about this. It'd been oddly interested in his story. How he'd torture his victims, then cut them then rape-_

_"Adrienne!" He shouted suddenly making me jump. I let out an almost silent whimper. "I thought we'd come to an understanding that I don't like waiting." He said calmer. Snapping from a man on the edge to a man very much in control in seconds._

_"I don't know!" I said a little louder. "I..please, please don't do this." I asked blindly pleading as I tried finding him past the light._

_"No, no, no Adrienne. Where did your feistiness go? That fire that we started out with?" He asked before continuing. "I've had plenty of grovellers, plenty of pleaders, but you're my first feisty patient." He said casually. "You're meant to fight back." His tone was dark and cruel._

_"Please, don't do this." My voice sounded pathetic. I wanted to be strong, I wanted to fight back, spit in his face, tell him that I'm going to escape. That the police will get him, but in all honesty I was surprised I didn't wet myself._

_"If I stopped every time someone begged, Miss Wells, I wouldn't have made it past Mrs Garrett." I remembered that name. Mrs Dianne Garrett was his first victim. 43 year old Dental receptionist. Her heart and hands were found ground up into a messy heap of tissue, skin, blood and bones in the forest…_

_"Well." He said, I could hear his footsteps getting closer. "I think we should get started." He stepped into the light and I squirmed against the bed frame. He was so…normal. He was just a man, he wasn't a mutated freak. He was just a man. A scary man but a man. His dark soulless eyes stared into mine, void everything but a slight glimmer of excitement. His dry lips cracked and turned into a grim smile. His straight nose, dark peppery hair. He was horribly skinny, like he didn't eat, his cheeks hallow and his boney hands gripping a gleaming, clean knife. He smirked as he turned the light, illuminating the rest of the room and Jesus Christ do I wish he hadn't._

_Against the back wall of the room was a large white board, my name written in messy letters in the middle of the board. Pictures of me tacked to it, basic information, my address, my work, the times I start and finish work, my friends. He'd been planning, watching and waiting for me to slip up so he could bring me here._

_But that wasn't even the worst of it. Along the wall to my left were shelves and shelves of jars. Neatly lined and filled with reddish clear liquid. It wasn't until I really focused on the contents of the jars that I noticed what was in them. My heart felt like it had seized in my chest and I actually puked. _

_In each jar was one whole severed head. Each floating wide eyed and decaying, their eyes staring as their hair floating almost magically around their dead faces. Each woman's cheeks drained of any colour, any life long ago. The flesh at the severed neck was chopped messily, chunks of flesh floating loosely at the base. Each jar was number, 1 through to 24. The first few heads were swollen and almost opaque, the skin looking near to bursting. My stomach dropped as my eyes found the last jar. It was empty._

_"Welcome to the surgery Patient 24…"_

I screamed desperately and sat bolt up right in bed, my night clothes clinging to my sweaty body as I stopped and gasped for air. I got up and rushed to the bathroom, just about making it to the toilet in time as I puked. Gagging and breathing for air I felt like I was going to pass out. I dropped to the floor, hugging the toilet as I steadied my breathing.

God how I wish he had killed me.

There was a quick banging at my front door. I groaned, realising my screams probably woke most of the house. I pushed myself of the floor with shaky arms and stumbled to the door. Swinging it open I was surprised to find Sherlock stood right infront of the doorway, wide eyed and ready for anything. Dressed in the same clothes from earlier. John stood behind him looking just as awake but in a large shirt and boxers.

"Is everything alright?" Sherlock asked, I wasn't sure if he sounded worried or not.

"Yeah, I just had a bad dream." I scratched the back of my head and avoided their eyes. I could feel them staring, and the fact that they were showing concern was definitely going to make me cry if I looked at them.

"Are you sure?" John asked.

"It sounded like you were being murdered." Sherlock added his stance relaxing a little. I gulped down the sick taste in my mouth and tried to ignore how close to the truth he was.

"No, it was just a bad dream, honestly I'm fine. Thank you though."

"What's going on!" Mrs Hudson asked, suddenly appearing from the corridor in her night dress and robe. She was gripping a baseball bat, as if sweet little her could defend me from the bad things. I smiled at her reassuringly.

"Nothing Mrs Hudson, she's ok. Go back to bed." Sherlock said, sounding as if he was bored of her, but underneath there was something, something close to a kind gesture.

"Oh." She simply said, lowering the bat and heading back to her flat.

I looked back at Sherlock and John. John was yawning widely, wiping the sleep from his eyes but Sherlock was still staring for once I don't think he was trying to work me out, he was just...staring.

"If you need anything, you'll let us know, won't you?" John said halfway through yawning.

"Yeah." I said looking away.

"Meghan..." Sherlock said seriously. I looked up, he almost looked concerned. He knew I wasn't planning on bothering them if anything did happen to me. John looked between us, looking more than a little perplexed.

"I will, I promise." I looked into his eyes as I spoke, he seemed to accept that as he nodded and turned away, already heading for the stairs.

"We'll hold you to that." John said, he nodded with a sleepy smile before following after Sherlock, who'd already disappeared up the stairs. I watched him for a moment before shutting the door and letting the tears flow freely.

**I'm sorry if it's too gross. I know it's pretty nasty, I thought I'd keep the severed head part of his ritual a secret ;) **

**Sorry if it's too nasty, but I hope you like it cause I'm pretty proud!**

**Thanks for reading (if you still are)**


	6. His Story

**The dream sequence took place the next night, after she finds out about Maria's death and spends the evening at John and Sherlock's. Just to clear up any confusion.**

**I'm so glad you like it, I know it's a little more graphic than the show, but I like twisting stories a little.**

**Your reviews are sooo encouraging and I love reading them, so thank you for the support so far :)**

**Enjoy!**

That next morning I didn't even wake up. Seeing as you need to actually sleep to wake up. I was dressed in an over sized hoodie and leggings by 4. Staring at the TV screen that played infomercials while orange tinted women tried to sell me 'genuine' Gucci products until 7. Then chirpy presenters came on, grinning like their 4,000 a week job was worth it. Their God damn smiles stuck until the news segment and apparently, having not murdered for a whole two days, Dr Richards' story was only worth an entire 5 second update of: 'He's still at large and still deadly. Inform the police if you have any information.' Then they changed to a much more interesting story of a sex scandal in the Government.

By 9 I'd turned the TV off and decided to go out for a walk. I hated this moping, I was bored of this pathetic thing I was becoming again. So, after pulling my dark curls up into a high ponytail and slipping on my Dr Marten's, I grabbed my keys and headed out. Only to be greeted by one of the men I didn't want to see right now. Not that I really wanted to see anyone. But D.I Lestrade was walking up the front steps as I opened the door. He hadn't seen me yet, was it too late to-

"Hello!"

Aw fuck.

"Hi." I greeted, putting a little animation in my voice. He cleared the steps between us and put his hand out for me to shake.

"You must be the new tenant in 221C?" I stared at him blankly for a moment. Was everyone around here insane?! I'd met him not 5 days ago! Oh wait! He's pretending.

"Yes, just moved in a few days ago. My name's Meghan." I shook his hand and pulled mine away shoving it in my pocket like the other one.

"D.I Greg Lestrade, Scotland Yard." The fact that he gave me such a formal greeting kind of made me think he rarely meets people outside of work.

"It's nice meeting you." I smiled as we stepped back into the house a little.

"And you. How's everything been since you moved in?" To anyone else, it would have just simply sounded like idle chit chat. But the look he was giving me told me he was asking as the Policeman, the one who was checking up on Adrienne: The witness protection girl.

"It's been fine actually. It's a lovely place, this."

"Lestrade are you bothering our new neighbour?" John said, I heard his footsteps thumping down the stairs towards us. He walked up and smiled. It didn't go unnoticed that his smile faltered a little when he looked at me. I must look awful. He over compensated with a bigger smile and turned to Lestrade.

"Of course not! Just making sure you and the Mrs aren't bothering her." He joked.

"We're not a couple!" John groaned with a little smile. "You got something for us?"

"Yes actually, can I come up?" Lestrade asked, stepping further into the house.

"No need!" Sherlock shouted from the top of the stairs. I turned and watched him hurry down the stairs. Somehow he didn't look like he was hurrying though, whether it was his impossibly long legs that took each step in its stride, or the fact he was as graceful as a God damn swan, I don't know. But he was suddenly stood opposite me.

"Whats happened to you?" He asked, looking me over with those scrutinising eyes. God, was it really that obvious? How bad do I _actually_ look?

"Nothing happened. I just couldn't sleep."

"No, this isn't just the insomnia." He said knowingly, gesturing towards me.

"You have insomnia?" Lestrade asked.

"What is it that's happened to you?" Sherlock asked quietly, almost rhetorically while all three men stood staring at me.

"Something's happened?" Lestrade asked, Sherlock glancing over at him.

"Why are you concerned?" He asked seeming to try and work out the situation here.

"I'm a policeman." Lestrade covered up, saying it slightly patronisingly.

"What happened?"

"Nothing, Sherlock." I said tiredly. God did I not need this, this morning. And their questions were all so bombarding, it was like a freaking verbal attack!

"It wasn't just that nightmare though, was it?"

"Sherlock…" John said worriedly. He seemed to be the only one who was picking up on how uncomfortable I was feeling while Lestrade and Sherlock stared.

"Don't-" I started.

"What was it?" He asked. It wasn't exactly full of concern, more intrigue. His freakishly blue eyes staring as he loomed closer to me. His height was intimidating enough, I wasn't short, not anywhere near it. I mean, he can't be more than 6'1 but god was he intimidating as he stepped closer, trying to work me out.

"Sherlock..."

"What was-"

"It's not your concern, Sherlock!" I shouted suddenly. Shocking myself as well as John and Lestrade. Sherlock just stood, still staring with that mysterious look.

"Meghan he-" John started to apologise.

"It's fine John. I'll see you later." I walked around them and outside. Knowing I'd go crazy if I went back to the flat and I'd no doubt have another verbal explosion if I stayed around these 3. I could feel their eyes on me as I hurried down the stairs and off towards the park I'd seen a few days ago.

_If_ I'd have stood around the corner, lurked in the doorway of 'Speedy's' I would have heard them talk about me. I would have heard John tell Sherlock off.

'It's none of our business. You should have left it.'

I'd have heard Sherlock get defensive. 'But there's something big! There's something I can't work out.'

And then I would have heard Lestrade clear his throat and chip into the conversation. 'She's your new neighbour Sherlock. Don't scare her off before she's fully moved in.'

'Why do you care so much?' Sherlock would have asked.

'Maybe because you can drive the most sane person crazy? Just back off. She doesn't want to tell you, so leave it.' Lestrade would say, quite a good actor when he wanted to be.

'Have you got a case for us or not?' Sherlock then said, striding out the door by the time I'd turned the corner at the end of the street. I might have seen him check down the street in the direction I'd walked in. Subtly so that John and Lestrade didn't notice. A vaguely human gesture, that for some reason he didn't want the others to see. I may have heard John whisper to Lestrade.

'Mrs Hudson told us to be especially nice to her.' He then made sure Sherlock couldn't hear. 'He's been acting odd since.'

'God is he frustrating.' Lestrade then sighed before both he and John followed Sherlock into the car. All the while I had been strolling to the park. Completely unaware of their little conversation as I walked, calming myself down as they headed off to one of their cases.

.

I'd only spent a few hours at the park, walking, drinking tea, watching people, that's something I've always been able to do for hours. People watching. I make stories in my head about them, their names, their jobs where they're going. But it had started raining, so I rushed back and had a shower. Enjoying the warmth it brought, the relaxation it brought to my body. After at least 20 minutes, my fingers pruning and the water turning cold I stepped out and looked at myself in the mirror.

"Aren't you looking beautiful today?" I sighed. The bags under my eyes were dark and puffy. My eyes themselves were dull and emotionless, my lips were cracked and my nose was red from a cold I'd no doubt picked up from my walk.

"That's enough." I told myself aloud, way past the point of caring whether I sounded insane or not. "No one likes a pathetic little sob story. If you don't want them knowing. Stop acting so fucking suspicious." I nodded took and deep breath and strode through to my bedroom full of determination. I flicked on the docking station on my old, white wash cabinet. My iPod playing one of the many songs Sam, Natalie and I used to love, we'd sing to it badly and dance around and change the lyrics. And that's exactly what I did. Screw sad little Adrienne!

I grabbed my make-up bag and pulled out my tweezers, singing to one of my favourite tracks as I neatened up my caveman-esque eyebrows. Spritzed my hair with sea-salt spray in an effort to make my almost black curls a little more manageable. I added some blush, some much needed lip balm and a little mascara while the music blared out in my room. I tried to make the notes I could never hit and laughed when I couldn't sing them.

I jumped around crazily, swinging my head from side to side as I made my way to my wardrobe. Finding a sleeveless patterned button up that took a while to get on due to my dance, and a pair of jeans that I wriggled into before spraying some perfume and skipping into the bathroom for the mirror, seeing as I'd smashed the one in my bedroom.

I couldn't stop myself from smiling when I looked in the mirror. I looked completely different from the way I had done half an hour ago. I looked the way I use to. Big smile and bright eyes, my curly hair falling down over one shoulder. I just looked normal and that was brilliant. Strolling back to my room I turned off my music, grabbed my denim jacket and boots and headed back out.

Singing as I strolled down the corridor. I stopped outside Mrs Hudson's door and knocked. She appeared looking a little surprised but welcoming as ever.

"Mrs Hudson!" I greeted, my voice full of something! For the first time in a while, there was a real emotion in my voice. She smiled back, if not a little confused. "I was just about to head out and I wondered if you needed anything?"

"Oh." She smiled a little easier, realising I hadn't gone mad. "No Dear, I'm fine thank you."

"You sure? No milk, or bread, or tea? Nothing?"

"No, absolutely fine here." She grinned. "Are you ok?"

"Wonderful Mrs Hudson."

"Good. I'm glad. Enjoy yourself while you're out." She smiled as I headed towards the door.

"I will!"

She giggled under her breath as I opened the front door. "Oh!" She said, I spun around to face her again as she leaned around the door frame. "The boys will no doubt need something. Their fridge is always empty."

"Well, they've always got the eyeballs!" I joked as I closed the door and started up the stairs. Mrs Hudson looked shocked for a moment before smiling.

"As far as I know they haven't resorted to cannibalism yet!" She called up after me.

"It's only a matter of time, Mrs H!" I shouted back, before hearing her mutter 'Mrs H!' and giggle and shut her door.

She was so sweet, like a Nanny you always wanted. Like that Aunt that use to make you awful christmas presents but was so sweet that you wore it all day just to keep her happy. I jumped up the top step and knocked on the door of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

"Sherlock?!" A voice called form inside after a while, a voice that was definitely John's. "Sherlock!"

I tapped my hands on my legs as I waited for whoever to answer the door.

"For God's sake Sherlock!" John said, sounding closer now. "Could you answer the door just once?!" The door swung open, revealing John in nothing but a towel, dripping wet with hair sticking up in all directions.

"Shower?" I asked, kicking my foot up and leaning on the door with a grin.

"Yes, someone is in his head space. Apparently that means he can't open the door." He gestured for me to come in. Looking me up and down as he did. "You're looking nice."

"Thank you, good Doctor." I nodded and strolled in, straight through to the living room. Sherlock sat in the armchair he usually occupied. Knees up to his chest, fingers strumming against each other as he stared at a spot in the floor. Either ignoring me or not noticing me as I walked in, John close behind me.

"Are you alright?"

"Wonderful." I grinned at John as he tried to cover up a little. "You can go change, John." I smiled as be blushed. "Tea?"

"Oh God, yes!" He shouted back as he hurried off to his room. I flicked the kettle on and tapped the mismatching mugs with the spoon. Humming along to one of the songs I'd listened to earlier. That was until a large pale hand appeared from no where, grabbing my own it stopped me from tapping the tune. I jumped and averted my attention to Sherlock who was as silently stealthy as he was slim. He'd somehow manoeuvred from his place in the living room to right next to me without me noticing at all.

"That is _very _irritating." He said deeply, looking at me contemptuously as his cold hand rest over my own. My skin tingled where his skin came into contact with my own. I pulled my hand back and poked my tongue out.

"_You're_ very irritating." The kettle clicked as Sherlock leant against the counter next to me.

"Oh how original." He mumbled, watching me as I poured water into the cups and stirred. The way he watched people was almost intrusive, it was almost as if he'd invited himself into your personal bubble and didn't care what you thought about it. He moved away, returning seconds later with the milk.

"Oh thanks, I could have gotten that." He nodded and waited for me to finish with it before taking it back.

"You won't want to see what's in the fridge today. Especially if you didn't like the eyes." At that my dumb curiosity really wanted to know what was in there. I had thought after my…past experiences I'd have lost my morbid curiosity that so often disgusted me.

"You say it as if someone _would_ like to find eyeballs in their fridge." Handing him his tea, he nodded a thanks and we walked back through to the living room.

"I'm sure someone with a darker mind than your own would be quite fascinated by them." He shrugged. It was almost weird having a vaguely regular conversation with Sherlock. But it was nice, apparently he is a human being! Who knew?!

"Someone tall and clever and invasive with questions?" I asked with a grin, surprised when I looked up to find him trying to hold in a smile.

"Yes. Someone exactly like that." We stared at each other sharing the first friendly moment we'd had since I met him. Well, we did for a moment before John interrupted, walking in and pulling on a knitted jumper.

"So why'd you come over, Meg?" He grinned, giving me a nickname for the first time. He dropped onto the chair opposite Sherlock's and took a swig of tea.

"Oh right, yeah! I came up here to see if you guys needed anything while I'm out." I kicked off my boots and folded my legs on the sofa. John smiled weirdly and Sherlock gave me a slightly puzzled look. I just ignored their looks, for some reason their messy little flat, filled with random pieces evidence, case files and occasionally things that made sense in their surroundings. But their home was so weirdly welcoming to me, I felt at ease with my too 'Not homophobic though!' neighbours.

"Anything being…?"

"I don't know general things, tea, sugar, milk, you know, food?" I shrugged. What else would I be offering to pick up? Porn magazines? I smiled to myself, for some reason I couldn't quite image that, that was Sherlock's thing.

"Why would you buy us those things?" Sherlock, ever the oblivious to a kind neighbourly gesture. John just rolled his eyes at me with a fond smile.

"Because that's what neighbours do." John grinned.

"Really?"

"Yes Sherlock." I answered slowly with a smile. At that 'Long shanks' sat slowly drinking his tea, staring at another spot on the floor, no doubt while he thought about the possible advantages to buying things for your neighbour. After a little silence, in which both John and I assumed at some point Sherlock would answer, he didn't so we carried on.

"So why aren't you two rushing round like mad men?"

"Is that what we normally do then?" John laughed.

"Oh yeah, all I've seen you do since I got here all those, 4 days ago." He smiled and shook his head.

"Well no, we don't have a case right now. Sherlock worked out the one Lestrade came round with this morning and now we've got nothing to do really." He laughed.

"That's not true." Sherlock said in that deep voice.

"Sherlock, conducting an experiment to see how long tongues can last detached from the body is exactly what happens when we don't have things to do." I gulped and looked at Sherlock who didn't even seem to acknowledge me as he answered.

"I told you, you wouldn't want to know what's in the fridge."

"You're feeling better than you did this morning, aren't you." John said suddenly, drawing me from my thoughts of exactly why someone would _want _to know how long a tongue could last on it's own.

"Yep." I popped the 'p', aware that Sherlock's attention was back on us. "It was just that dream that kind of got me down, but I'm fine." I grinned, genuinely meaning it, for the moment at least.

"Good! Biscuits?" John slapped his knees and stood up, already heading to the kitchen with out an answer. He was gone a moment before I decided I needed to really clear the air with Sherlock.

"Sherlock…" He looked around, no emotion in his eyes other than vague curiosity. "I'm sorry about shouting at you earlier."

"Don't be." He started moving in his seat. "John told me I was rude and I should apologise for that." He said stiffly.

"So we're all sorted?"

"Sorted?" He asked tilting his head a little like a confused puppy. This guy is the most socially inept man I've ever met! How John lives with him I'll never know.

"Yeah, there's no problem between us? We're ok with each other?"

"Of course." He nodded and kept staring at me. God were his never-ending stares intimidating!

"Sherlock!" John shouted from the kitchen. "He's killed another one!" Before I could think, John turned up the radio in the kitchen that I didn't realise was on as Sherlock and I silenced.

"…After the confirmation from London's top forensic team that Dr Christopher Ivan Richards was in fact the individual that murdered Maria Brisken, it is suspected that he has murdered again."

Oh God no. Not again. Not now!

"…33 year old massage therapist, Prudence Walters' body was found in the Stanstead forest, just north of her home in Havant. The body was found by George Forges while out walking his dog earlier this evening. The Portsmouth resident says: 'It was brutal, I-I've never seen anything like that, and all I found was the body, poor woman.' The clearly shaken witness to the body later went on to say how mutilated the body was. 'There was the cut, that one that he leaves on their chests and…her legs, they'd been cut off along with her heart being ripped out. The skin, her skin was so pale.'

Police on the scene made no comments, but judging from the facts given, the limbs have been found but Police are currently searching the area for the removed heart. Thought to be in the same minced condition as the rest of his victims."

We'll keep you updated on the story as and when we're given new information."

The familiar sensation came rushing back. The queasiness, the light headed dizziness, that sinking in my chest. A few words from a stranger on the radio and I was back to Adrienne.

"It's not him." Sherlock said before I could think on my inevitable doom any further.

"What?" John asked after turning the radio down again.

"It's not him." He repeated calmly. For some reason, even without any further explanation, I trusted him, something inside me calmed down. "Richards didn't kill this one."

"How on Earth can you possibly know that from a news report on the radio?" John sighed, as if already regretting even asking the questions.

"Oh come on John, it's simple-"

"The head." I said not even knowing I'd actually been thinking.

"Exactly." Sherlock pointed at me.

"The guy who found the body didn't say anything about the head, and the reporter didn't say that anyone had found it." That was some kind of relief, right? I mean it wasn't exactly the capture and arrest of the freaking psycho, but at least he hadn't killed again.

"How do you know about the heads?" Sherlock asked suspiciously. Holy fucking shit. Round of applause for Verbal-Diarrhoea-Adrienne! Think, think, think! Come on, I know thinking's not our strong point but come on make some shit up!

"I have family over in Sussex, my Aunts friend found one of the bodies and said that there was no head. I just assumed, you know, seeing as this guys so anal with his murder ritual, I just assumed that he'd remove the heads from all the victims."

And the freaking Oscar goes to…Adrienne Well's for that flawless cover story. All the awards! Bravo!

"Oh, that's pretty…detective-ish of you." John said looking a little impressed.

"Quite." Sherlock added, looking somewhere between disbelieving and intrigued. "Yes, it's a copycat. Clearly not exactly a master one at that. Seeing as even you know about the heads you'd think a copycat would look into it a little closer. Moron."

I wasn't sure whether to take that as an insult or whether it was just a comment. Knowing Sherlock, which I feel I do a little more than I should after less than a week of being his neighbour, he was just saying it, not even considering the fact that it sounded slightly insulting.

"So are you guys following the case?" I asked, calmed right down again already.

"Yeah, it's pretty interesting. Sort of an occupational hazard, taking an unhealthy amount of interest in murder and crime."

"He's insane. Incredibly clever but insane, nonetheless. The way he picks his victims is remarkable." Sherlock thought aloud, his tea had gone cold long ago.

"Sherlock thinks Richards' victims are linked." John whispered, loud enough for all of us to hear.

"They _are _linked."

"How?" If anything peaked my curiosity, it was the subject of my doom. I know, call me crazy, call me masochistic. Whatever. I had this need to understand him, this almost desperation to know why he chose me.

"His victims are all women. That's the basic link."

No shit, Sherlock! I pressed my lips together in order to stop myself from verbalising my thoughts.

"And the other link is the best one, it's so simplistic it's brilliant!" It sounded like he almost idolised Richards! He sat up a little more and looked as though he were about to tell a story as his eyes lit up a little. "He was a doctor, a surgeon, as we all know. An incredibly good one at that, one of the best in the country. He worked at St Thomas'. Didn't start until he was 36. But I acquired some files about the Richards.-"

"Don't ask how he got those. I don't even know." John added, earning a slight glare from Sherlock.

"Yes, anyway." He said pointedly at a less than bothered John. "I found out he wasn't always Christopher Ivan Richards. He was born Simon Peterson. Son and heir to a rather rich family in the South. His mother, Genevieve Florence was very close to him, in more than a platonic way. Their relationship started when he was young, 18, just before he started his degree. His Father was away in the war. Richards thought his mother to be the most beautiful woman in the world, he was completely obsessed.

Anyway, it continued, on and on for 13 years, until his Father returns home from many years in the war only to discover them in bed, together. His wife and his stranger of a son. He understandable got angry, he beat Richards almost to death, knocking a now 31 year old Richards unconscious, he left him and went to punish Genevieve. By this stage he was so enraged he'd completely lost control and let his anger out, he tied her to a bed and cut a line over a suction mark Richards had left on her breast, a near enough perfect 5 inch cut. Learning many brutal things in the war he knew exactly where to make incisions to ensure she'd bleed out, cutting just over the veins on her wrists, her inner thigh and her neck.

After she bled dry, Richards' Father panicked, he'd killed his wife and his still unconscious son knew. Now baring in mind he'd just come back from war, he was in no way in a sane state of mind, no doubt the war had made him rather unstable, more desensitised than what he was when he left for it.

So he dragged Genevieve's drained body down to the kitchen, in which he found the meat mincer. Desperate for anyway to avoid an inevitable prison sentence he lay her on one of the work surfaces, pulled out a butcher's knife and started cutting her body up. Hacking off her feet, legs, arms, hands, head. Everything. Once he was left with everything cut off and her organs removed he started mincing it all up. Thinking he'd effectively be destroying the evidence. He'd decided to start with the heart. Probably in some ironic gesture, symbolising the fact she'd broken his heart, so he'd break hers. He minced it up and went to start on the next piece when there was a knock at the door. Again, he's panicking, he hurries through to the main hallway and waits. The callers are Policemen, a neighbour heard screams and called the police, so they'd come round to check up, they said. Richards' Father knew they wouldn't go without a quick inspection of the place. So in his desperation and fear of the jail sentence he went back to the kitchen, took the butcher's knife and slit his own throat. After no response the police worry and check through the windows of the house, finding a shock in the kitchen they break in and search the house. Finding a waking Richards upstairs, they take him away and explain what happened. When the told him what happened he went crazy, smashing things screaming, he went insane.

So they put him in an asylum for a short while, sent him to psychologists, had him fully checked over until he was calm, not a month later. He was out and free, knowing the full details of his mother's murder he changed his identity, name, documents, identity and returned to his medical profession, just under a new name, going on to become the Serial Killer we know him as today."

Holy fuck.

"The link is their beauty. He sees beauty, he recognises it, and he feels the only way to enhance their beauty anymore than possible is to kill them in the way he does…"

"Like his Mother was." I said, working it out. Working out the motives behind the murderer.

"Exactly. So he kills his victims in the same way his Mother was killed. But he adds rape and doesn't remove all the limbs and organs, just the head and heart and other parts he feels the need to cut off. But the link is his Mother. He kills women he see's as aesthetically pleasing, women he feels to be of at least equal beauty to his Mother."

I don't know how long I sat there for. Just taking in everything. One man, Sherlock Holmes had worked out the psycho that I'd for so long wanted to understand, to at least see some kind of sick twisted logic in what he tried to do to me, what he did to so many others, and here it was. It's because he thinks I'm beautiful.

"Meghan…." John said quietly. Looking up I found both men looking at me expectantly. "Was that too much for you, he gets carried away."

"No, no." I took a little breath. "I'm fine honestly." I just found out I've been complimented for my looks in the most morbid way possible. Brilliant. "Where did you find all that out?"

"I have connections, people in high places." Sherlock said a little smugly.

"But the police don't even know about that, do they?"

"No, Richards was clever enough to erase any trace of his past life. But he slipped out on his Mother's name, when I looked up his fake Mother and found she didn't exist I did some research and found out who he really is."

"Simon Peterson." I confirmed staring at the floor for a moment before looking back at Sherlock. He was starting to look bored again. He honestly had no idea how much closure his explanation had brought me. Here was me thinking for all these years that I'd done something, I'd hurt someone or done something horrible I can't recall, something that effected Dr Richards in some way. But at least now I know my conscience is clear. Not that that's going to save my life. But sometimes there's comfort in just knowing.

**Right, I know it's a slow burner this chapter and I'm sorry, but I love the end to it.**

**I hope that all makes sense, it's 4 am and I'm knackered but I had to finish it. I really hope it's all clear and sounds good. If not please please please let me know in a review and I'll sort it out.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	7. Sherlock's Brother

**This one's kind of short, it's just a kind of filler, but I like it.**

**Enjoy!**

"Any luck on the job front?" John asked, throwing a couple of cans of beans into the trolly. After looking through their fridge and only finding a bottle of milk, half a dozen eggs, some rather sad looking vegetables and of course, the tongues. I'd all but dragged John to the nearest supermarket for some much needing food shopping. Sherlock of course had refused to come; 'Why would I waste my time with such a mundane activity?' He asked, before retreating to his room to conduct an experiment. I swear, he's like an anti-social teenage version of Enistein.

"I haven't even started looking actually, I guess I should though, right?" Right, I'm meant to be finding a job, I mean, it's not like this is a holiday. This is my life now and I can't live off my inheritance forever, can I?

"That would probably be a good idea." He grinned.

It's been 2 weeks since I moved in. I honestly think London is the best place for me. In my tiny one bedroom basement flat, on Baker Street I was happy. The happiest I've been maybe in 4 years. Sure, I didn't have my best friends, or my Aunty, my nieces, my job. But I had a new start and I was enjoying it right now. Shopping with John, 'The Butcher' hadn't killed again since Maria, Sherlock had been right, Prudence Walter's death was a copycat killer who had been caught yesterday morning, much to the ego-divulging satisfaction of Sherlock Holmes.

The fact he hadn't killed again both comforted and frightened me. He hadn't been found, but he hadn't been killing more innocent people either. So he's either giving up the game, which I highly doubt, I've read that certain serial killers have a target, a target they'll go to the ends of the Earth to meet, even if that results in their own death or a longer prison sentence. I had a suspicion that Dr Richards wasn't the type to step away from a project.

"You like Chilli, right?" Dropping kidney beans into the trolly. I'd also taken to cooking for the Detective duo. They were about as good at looking after themselves as 8 year olds. So most nights that they were in I'd come over and cook. They'd been given a handful of cases which had all been solved quickly. Sherlock was getting bored and wanted a big case, something that 'takes more than the brains of an average house cat to figure out.' His words. Not mine. He's strange, I know.

"I haven't had Chilli in ages!" John said a little dreamily.

"Good, you'll have nothing better to compare mine to then." He laughed at me as we continued to shop.

.

By the end of our short shopping expedition I'd convinced John to buy a few ready meals, for when I'm not there and he and Sherlock hadn't eaten. Especially Sherlock who was known to completely forget about the necessity of food. Even if it's rubbish food, it's food.

We took a taxi home, unloaded the shopping and settled down in front of my TV, watching a Detective series. John made me laugh, in a very unattractive way at that. There was snorting and ugly giggling, I'm not a pretty laugher. He kept poking holes in the detectives theories, working out the liars, he named the killer in 10 minutes. I dread to think what Sherlock would be like to watch these programmes with.

"It's Lorraine! I'm telling you, she had absolutely no business being in that warehouse." He shouted at the TV, as if the actors would stop playing their parts then and there, give up trying to convince him of their rubbish story line.

"It's not Lorraine, it's Freida." It clearly wasn't. I just found wounding John up and TV shows was too much fun to miss.

"Freida?" He asked sounding a little outraged. Jesus did this man get defensive over television. Maybe that's why they don't have one in their flat. I could just imagine the two of them sat up there, shouting at the plasma screen. Maybe I should buy them a TV…."Freida's the one who was murdered, Meg!"

I sniggered to myself when suddenly a wild Sherlock appeared, how he got in I'll never no, I swear I'd locked that door? Although I wouldn't put it past him to know how to break into the securest of doors.

Mental note: buy better locks.

He was heading towards me until he noticed John shouting at the TV detective, apparently there was a suspect in the bin at the back of the building, or something like that.

"John, what are you doing here?" He asked as he stood behind the sofa.

I had to stop myself from staring at Sherlock. He was wearing a black button up that was a fraction to small. But it was too small in the nicest way possible. The colour made his skin look a little paler, his eyes looked brighter. The shirt was tight in all the right places, stretching across his arms and chest when he moved. His top button undone. I mean, call me a pervert, but damn does Sherlock look good in a dark tight shirt, I mean Me-freaking-ow!

He cleared his throat and I literally wanted the ground to swallow me whole when I looked up and found him watching me staring at his body. One eyebrow raised as he smirked a little. No way does socially inept Sherlock know what I was doing?! Well, judging from that freaking smirk he did know, and I did an awful job at not staring there! Congratulations Meghan! John was oblivious as he watched D.C.I Hart chase after one of the suspects down the busy streets of Manchester.

"I'm watching TV, eating Jaffa Cakes and drinking coffee. What are _you_ doing?" John asked casually, to which Sherlock averted his attention from me to him. Thank God, why he was still staring at me after catching me checking him out I'll never know.

"Hiding from Mycroft." Sherlock muttered.

"Mycroft's here?" John asked sounding more interested.

"Yes. His car just pulled up."

"And here I was, thinking you stopped by to say hello." I muttered, leaning back on the sofa as Sherlock sat down in the warn out armchair. "Who's Mycroft?" That has got to be his last name, Mycroft's almost as bad as Sherlock!

"My brother." Oh…

"Your parents are awful." I whispered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing. So…why are you hiding from your brother?"

"No doubt he's just here to check up on me, tell me off for God knows what I've done now." Sherlock sighed, his long legs crossed out in front of him.

"Sherlock and Mycroft don't get on so well." John whispered, eyes still on the screen.

"Why?" I whispered back, noticing how Sherlock was frowning intensely at the TV, no doubt mentally questioning everything they were doing.

"I don't really know that." John admitted, looking as though he had already tried to work out their relationship. "You'll see when you meet him."

"This story line is ridiculous!" Sherlock sighed, suddenly standing and going to the kitchen.

"Mugs are in the cupboard by the fridge!" I shouted through after him, knowing exactly what he was doing.

"I know!" He called back. I was going to question how he knew that then realised I probably didn't want to know. He'd only ever been in my flat twice before since I moved in. Well, that I knew of at least.

Readjust mental note: Add dead bolts and lasers to front door...possibly buy guard dogs too.

It wasn't 10 minutes after Sherlock sat back in the armchair with a cup of tea that there was a knock on my door. He groaned dramatically but stood up, going to answer my front door as if he lived here. But weirdly enough his behaviour wasn't really irritating. I kind of liked that he made himself at home. That both he and John just lounged around calmly and relaxed in my home. It was...nice.

"Looks like you'll be witnessing a Holmes family meeting sooner than later." John sat up, placing his coffee on the table and looking towards the front door.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock moaned as we heard the door swing open.

"Is that anyway to greet your brother?" A voice questioned. Two seconds in and I could have guessed he was related to Sherlock without being told. It was slight complacent-ness in his voice. Something it seemed both brothers had. "Did you really think hiding out in your neighbours apartment would work?" His voice was getting louder, it seems the Holmes' were a law onto themselves when it came to being a house guest. I heard the door shut and watched as the brothers walked in. Mycroft was easily as tall as Sherlock, but he was clearly the older of the two, dressed in a light brown, 3 piece suit with a red tie and a smug grin.

"I had hoped you'd give up after searching our flat." Sherlock sighed, walking past his brother and sitting in the armchair again. Mycroft stood in front of the TV, nodding towards John before looking at me.

"You must be Miss Bennett." He said confidently, before looking around my living room. His eyes weren't quite as sharp and busy as Sherlocks, but he was still examining everything, scrutinising the contents of the room. It was a moment later that I realised he knew my name. I turned to Sherlock for an answer.

"Mycroft has us watched, he'll deny it, but he does. No doubt he know's everything about you already." Jesus Christ do I hope he's wrong.

"Not quite everything." Mycroft said, his eyes on me. "But I know enough." He gave me one of those looks that could mean anything from he know's I had a hair cut a few weeks ago, to he knows my first word was 'Dog'. God am I starting to dislike Holmes' and their mysterious ways. Ergh.

"Why are you here Mycroft?" Sherlock asked again, sounding bored as he stared down into his mug.

"I've come with a case for you."

"Since when do you _personally_ bring us cases?" Sherlock asked, trying to seem nonchalant but he'd sat up a little more, his eyes a bit more focused on his brother now.

"Since a close friend of mine in parliament needs you."

"I didn't realise you had friends." Sherlock smiled to himself, John sniggered while Mycroft just rolled his eyes. Yes, Sherlock was definitely the younger brother.

"Oh do be mature for once, Sherlock." He sighed tiredly.

"Mycroft works for the government." John whispered, noticing my slight confusion.

"Oh.."

"So...Parliament?" Sherlock asked, quirking an eyebrow. Even John was paying Mycroft more attention. They hadn't worked on a big case in almost a week.

"Yes. It's a big one, it'll keep you and John busy." I scoffed a little, judging from the looks I received from all three men, none of them had the mental immaturity level I did. I mean come on! _That_ was an innuendo if I've ever heard one.

After a short moment while they all seemed to try and work out why I found that sentence funny, Sherlock carried on.

"I doubt it, it's likely to be a sex scandal." Sherlock sighed but stood, put his mug down and walked out. Mycroft scowled a little, clearly Sherlock was right about the sex scandal thing. But Sherlock just went, no word of thanks for the tea, no goodbye nothing.

"So…are we taking it?" John asked confused, following Sherlock towards the door.

"Of course we're taking it, we're not going to sit around here watching mindless drivel all day, John." He said as if were obvious opening the front door as he went. By now I'd come to realise that Sherlock never meant to be insulting when he said these things, he was just a bit of an etiquette square.

John's head peaked around the corner.

"Thanks for today Meg, I'll text you if we're going to be in for dinner." He grinned a little apologetically as he pulled his coat on.

"No worries, have fun!"

"As always." He rolled his eyes and disappeared, no doubt Sherlock was already in the car waiting. It was only then that I realised Mycroft was still stood in front of the TV, waiting patiently.

"You know not everything in your records add up." He said casually starting to stroll around the room. Oh shit no, how did he know?! How does he have my records? Who is this man? How high up is he in the government? "Your school records don't add up."

"What do you mean they don't add up?" Play dumb, right? That's the best way about this.

"I mean that the years you attended are all wrong. They overlap." He picked up a photo in a frame and looked it over. "Everything else is perfect, but that little slip up was noted."

I sat in silence, it would be insulting to argue about it. He knew. He knew I wasn't who I say I am and all because someone messed up a little thing like that. Shit.

"I don't really care why you're lying, or who you are right now. There must be reason for you to be lying and I won't pry. But if you're bringing more trouble into this house than my brother brings on himself, than we have a problem." He turned back to me, staring, warning behind his eyes. "_If_ you are bringing trouble into this house, then I suggest you sort out it before it becomes _his_ problem."

He sighed and headed towards the door after Sherlock and John. He picked up a wine gum from the bowl of sweets on the cabinet by the door before looking back.

"I'll be keeping an eye out, _Meghan_." He dropped the sweet into his mouth and smiled then left, closing the door quietly behind him. I just sat, staring at where he'd been. So he knows I'm not who I say I am, but he doesn't know who I really am. Sherlocks, slightly creepy older brother knows my entire fake life story and he's probably going to find out who I really am at some point. Then he'll tell Sherlock no doubt. My heart dropped in my chest at that thought.

And he's going to be watching me.

Have I mentioned how much I love the Holmes' yet?

**I'm so stoked with the feedback you guys are giving, I'm glad you like it so much!**

**Thanks for reading, I'll try and upload the next chapter as soon as, Ciao!**


	8. The School Girl

In the past dozen days I'd allowed myself to forget everything. Since that pathetic attempt by the copy cat murderer, it seemed the world had forgotten about Dr Richards and his doomed 'Patient 24'. No one mentioned him, no one died. No one cared. My past experience with the man had been pushed to the back of my mind. I went out, met some of Lestrade's colleagues that came round for the detectives upstairs. Occasionally kept Mrs Hudson company for the afternoon. Went to the pub with Sherlock and John on the rare occasion Sherlock was willing to 'socialise'. I was even asked out on a date by Zachariah, the unfortunate looking coffee shop worker down the street. He was nice and all, don't get me wrong, he was a real sweetheart and I'm hardly the most shallow person in the world. But when you're focusing more on the mole right under his nose than the rest of his face, he's pretty much off your list of suitors, if you know what I mean.

John had fast become one of the best friends I've ever had. He was hardly on the same page as Sam. I mean I didn't expect him to jump around my bedroom with me, singing to 'The Killers' while we eat sweets and try on our new clothes. I had giggled at the mental image though. But he was a different kind of friend. Grown up but funny and caring and totally trustworthy. A few times I had considered blurting out the truth, my real name, my real life. But there was always that unexplainable fear that he'd tell Sherlock, and I don't for the life of me know why I was so afraid of possibly the best detective in the world finding out who I was. (Don't tell him I said that he's the best.)

But in the few weeks I'd been here we'd come to this odd understanding, Sherlock and I. Like the one he had with John. Although Sherlock had little time for most people, he seemed to bend the rules for John and me. I don't honestly know why I was exempt from everyone else. But I was. He didn't mind my company. Occasionally I'd go as far as saying he enjoyed it. When we sat in my little apartment every now and then, just him and I at God knows what time in the morning (due to my insomnia and Sherlock's…lack of human necessities.) He'd just stroll in, I had realised it was easier to leave my front door unlocked in the day time, Holmes would get in if he wanted to, so what was the point in making that trickier? Anyway, we'd sit up in my apartment watching awful movies and criticising everything about them. We'd each have company during the night and John and Mrs Hudson could sleep peacefully, without being woken by Sherlock, playing violin before sunrise. Everyone wins.

And the odd thing is he still stares. He still tries to work me out, figure out the big secret I'm hiding. Either that or he thinks I'm a beautiful woman and he can't take his eyes off of me. Again the very idea made me giggle. He's attractive. There's no point denying it. Sherlock Holmes is an irritatingly attractive person. He's tall and dark, his eyes are stupidly captivating and he's so intelligent, half the time he's talking I want to drag him into my bedroom and lock the door. Oh and don't even mention his hair, that god damn hair is freaking addictive to stare at.

But Sherlock is a bit of an A-Sexual robot in that area. He doesn't seem to be attracted to anything. We'd been out enough times, and seen enough attractive people for me to at least gauge what gender he likes. But nothing. He doesn't acknowledge anything. It's weird. No, it's freaking frustrating. Not that I want to act on my slight attraction to the dumb beanpole, but John doesn't even know what he likes for Christ's sake!

But basically my new world was turning out brilliantly. New friends, new life. Brilliant.

Today I'd completely missed all the daily news updates, so I was sat in my kitchen with a hot mug of fruit tea, waiting for the 11.30 news. The same radio station I'd been listening to for almost 3 weeks. Without realising it, listening to the news updates on said radio station had become an integral part of my day. Never missing at least one of the scheduled updates. It mainly involved scandals, celebrity news, government problems, a cat attacking an elderly woman. Same shit, different days.

Then that fucking news anchor, Bill Hardy revealed exactly what I didn't want to hear. Something that made my perfect little false life come crashing down around me, that along with the mug I'd been holding at the time, it smashed on the floor.

**''Dr Richards kills school girl in tragic homicide.''**

I all but ran to the radio on my counter, almost knocking it off as the news jingle finished and Bill Hardy was back with his report.

''Just 24 days after murdering Maria Brisken, Dr Christopher Richards has murdered again. The disgraced Surgeon has claimed another life in his blood thirsty killing spree, bringing his body count to 29. Samantha Hindes, a 16 year old Chichester school girl is his youngest victim to date. Samantha was thought to be walking home from a late night rehearsal for her school play when she was abducted by Richards. Her friends and teachers, who were the last people to see Mss Hindes alive have given statements revealing that Samantha left Chichester High School at roughly 8.30. Samantha's body was found discarded and massacred in the forest of the Goodwood racecourse grounds, 15 minutes from Samantha's home; By Scott Ashley, groundskeeper of the notorious racetrack. The heart and removed limbs of the teen have been recovered by local policeman. The scene of the crime thought to be a shed, also in the grounds, forensics and police have managed to place Dr Richards at the scene using fingerprint scans and DNA traces left in the building. Although he is known to have been there, there is no trace or suggestion of where the serial killer might be now. The police have cordoned off the area, but it's thought that Richards fled in the early hours of the morning.

Locals to the area are outraged and devastated by the event, a terrible lose of the teenage girl, known well by her neighbours and fellow students. A public ceremony will be held for Miss Hindes on Friday, in the town centre to mourn the lose of a much loved young, member of the community."

The bile built up in my throat, my jaw tightened and my stomach flipped. 16 years old. I knew he was a monster but she was 16. She was still a child. I turned to the sink and took a deep breath, pouring out a water and taking big gulps as I calmed myself down.

16 years old. For some reason it made me hate him more, made _me_ want to kill _him_. I all but fell against the counter and turned the radio down.

.

"Meghan!" Oh God, not now! "Meghan!" Sherlock's deep voice rang through the flat as I hurried to sober myself up from my momentary grieving for the girl I never knew. I checked the clock. It had only been 20 minutes since I found out about the latest murder, yet it felt like hours.

"I'm through here, Sherly." He appeared in the doorway and sighed, glaring at me a little.

"Do stop calling me that."

"No." His fast eyes darted over me, before they found the smashed mug and the puddle of tea on the floor.

"What happened?" His eyes flicked back to mine and he stepped closer, his eyebrows furrowing.

"It slipped and I dropped it." I avoided his eyes subtly and ducked down to pick up the shattered china.

"Of course." He mumbled and bent down next to me. His hands swept across the floor, picking up the small chips of my favourite spotty mug. While I on the other hand fumbled around wobbling on my feet as I collected bits in my hands.

"Ow!" I hissed, looking down at my sore finger, as a small red blob, which was growing in size quickly, formed. Shit.

"Did you cut yourself?" Sherlock asked as if he knew I'd do it. He sighed and dropped the pieces he'd picked up into the bin.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." I put my finger tip in my mouth to get rid of the blood.

"So that drop of blood on the floor is…?" He smirked and took my free hand, pulling me up gently. Surprising me with his human gesture. Rolling his eyes he took my finger out of my mouth, holding it carefully in his cold grasp as we watched the blood make a sticky red trail down my finger. "Hold it up." He spoke quietly. Letting go and walking out to the bathroom, I followed after him, with my finger pointed in the air, like an idiot.

I walked in and sat on the closed toilet seat, mesmerised by the bloody trail down my finger.

"I knew you'd cut yourself." He muttered, rummaging through the first aid box, I really don't want to know how he knew it was here.

"Oh, so you're psychic too now?"

He gave me a dry look and came over, kneeling in front of me.

"Either that or you're just predictable and clumsy." I couldn't look away from his face as he concentrated. His dark curls hanging just above his light green eyes, his bottom lip suckered in just slightly as his nimble fingers tore off a piece of tissue. He wiped all the blood away with a tissue and wrapped my finger in a big plaster.

"Does it have to be so big?" I glared at the plaster like a child. Trying to ignore the lingering tingles his touch left on my skin. That and the fact he was acting so human. I'd never imagine he was eve capable of doing something kind and vaguely caring. Yet here he was, carefully wiping off the remains of the blood on my hand.

"They're the only one's you have." He shrugged. "Besides, it's hardly my fault your hands are so small."

"Hey!" I scowled at him and hit his arm, and he smiled! Sherlock Holmes smiled, what was this? Where was this human side of him coming from? "Thanks though."

"Not a problem." He nodded, dropped the tissue into the bin and strolled out. "Just do try to be more careful." I grinned and followed him again back to the kitchen.

"Don't even try. You'll only cut yourself again." He sighed, knowing I'd try and clean up the mug again, so I jumped up onto the counter and watched him finish cleaning. I resisted the urge to take a photo and send it to John, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. They'd probably find it as funny as I did, watching Sherlock being vaguely domestic.

"So why'd you come over?" I swung my legs and yawned. He'd come over last night and we watched 'Twilight' at Sherlock actually laughed at one point, and that was definitely a first. Unlike like the little laugh he did a moment ago. Yesterdays laugh was carefree, easy and infectious. But anyway, after we spend a night watching a movie and talking, he'd usually not come round the next night, probably bored of my company or thinking I might want to sleep.

"You know why I came here." He said as I handed him a cloth to mop up the drop of blood on the tiles and the tea. "No doubt for the same reason you dropped your tea."

"Sorry?"

"Meghan." He sighed. He was about to go on a CDR: Consulting Detective Rant as John and I had named it. "The tea on the floor is near enough stone cold and already settling into the tile grout which suggests it's been there at least 15-20 minutes. Leaving the time you dropped it to be about half past 11. Your radio's buzzing, you turned the sound right down but you didn't turn it off, so there was something you didn't want to hear on there, you turned it down in quick desperation. More likely than anything else you had been listening to the news. You listen to it everyday, but because you only got home from shopping in the city at 8, the first news update you'd hear today would be the 11.30 update. The fact that you, a rather tidy home owner have yet to clear up the mess means you've been thinking on something." He stood up and turned to face me, standing close as for once we were at eye level. "Your pulse is raised and your pupils are still dilated, you hadn't moved until I arrived so I think you know exactly why I'm here." He finished, staring at me as he stood just feet in front of me.

"You really are desperate for a case aren't you?" I asked with a grin ignoring his deduction. He rolled his eyes and dropped his head, nodding a little. His curls were so bloody close, I had to tighten my fists against the counter to stop myself from grabbing them.

"It's been 2 days!" He spun around and flicked on the kettle before looking at me over his shoulder. "Why are you so interested in this case?"

"What case?"

"Don't play dumb, you're far too intelligent not to know what I mean. You know what I'm talking about."

"_I'm_ intelligent?" I raised an eyebrow and grinned. "_You_, the flawless, Godly Sherlock Holmes think _me_, a mere simple peasant girl am intelligent?"

"Meghan…" He encouraged lazily, crossing his arms across his chest and causing his dark purple shirt to tighten a little.

Jesus, Meghan! Get a grip!

"Because he's a monster." I sighed and slid off the work surface, walking on a line the floor grout made. Trying to distract myself a little while I explained the answer. "There's no pattern, there's nothing to his murders, other than the fact he thinks his victims are beautiful. He's a twisted creep! I'm interested in his story because I want to know why he does it. I know you explained, you told us exactly why he does it, but it still doesn't make sense! He's fucking sick, Sherlock. She was 16! Killing the others was hardly excusable but this is different he…"I realised I was ranting, my eyes were blurring. I took a breath and calmed myself a little. "She'd barely started her life, Sherlock."

I stared down at the floor as we stood in silence for a moment. It didn't bother me that Sherlock knew I was upset by it. I hadn't revealed that it wasn't just because he's a sick, twisted fuck of a man, but also because he wants to kill me. If he worked it out I wouldn't care right now.

A full mug of tea came into view, held out by a large pale hand. I looked up at Sherlock, he gave me one of those rare Sherlock smiles. It was kind of an awkward smile, it was genuine, I know it was. But it's like he didn't really know how to make it look genuine. I smiled back and took the cup. Knowing that would be as much comfort that I'd get from him. But I liked that. I hated the way other people tried to comfort me when I was sad, or crying. I hate be comforted. People telling me everything was going to be better, that it was going to be ok. Sometimes I just wanted to vent. And even if Sherlock didn't know that he seemed to understand that I didn't need kind words.

"Thanks." I grinned and walked through to the living room. "I just- it's horrible."

"It is." He agreed and sat down next to me, in 'his' armchair. I had assumed he'd say more, but he didn't.

"So did you want to talk about it, or….?"

"No, not really he's clearly just killing more people until he can find 'Patient 24'. The fact that this latest victim is 16 is just a sick twist to his plans. But I just wanted to check on you." He looked vaguely uncomfortable as if he didn't quite know why he was here himself.

"Check on me?"

"Yes, well the last time he murdered you seemed…upset," He almost said the word as a question, as if he wasn't 100% sure it was the right word. "Well, John thought you have the same reaction this time too."

"And he was right." I laughed a little, why? I don't know. Why the hell was I so weirdly disappointed that he hadn't come round for his own reason? That he didn't come round because _he_ was worried I'd be upset.

"Why didn't John come round then?" I asked, flicking on the TV.

"He's out." Sherlock said sounding irritated. "On a date." I liked the sudden change of topic.

"Another one?" I mean, I've only lived at 221 Baker Street for a month, but already John had been on 3 dates. How and when he meets these women is beyond me.

"Apparently Mary is 'wonderful'." Sherlock said, sounding both contemptuous and like a jealous child.

"I thought Sophie was 'wonderful'?" I swear John came back from a date with Sophie, speaking about the blonde in quite a loving way.

"No." He sighed stretching his arms above his head as the opening credits for the Midnight Movie started on the TV. "Mary is _really_ wonderful, he thinks she could be the one. They've been on 2 dates already."

"The one?"

"Soul mates. Or something ridiculous like that." He waved off dismissively. "He's sure of it."

"Well shouldn't you be playing the 'happy for him' best friend?" I teased.

"No. She'll just become a big distraction for him. He'll lose the focus he has the job if they get too seriously involved."

"Because John falling in love would be completely earth shattering."

"Sarcasm?" He asked sounding unimpressed. I just nodded.

"Well, if he's ever unavailable, I can help." He looked up at me, seeming to actually think about my offer.

"You'd help me with a case?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Sure." I shrugged and sipped my tea. "I don't know how much help I'll be, but."

"Don't do the self doubt thing. It doesn't suit you. We both know you could be beneficial."

"I know I just like hearing you give compliments to people, seeing as it rarely ever happens." I grinned at him cheesily as he stared. After a little while the corner of his mouth twitched and he smiled a little bit.

"But yeah, I'd love to help."

"I'll remember that."

"Is this an offer I'm going to regret?" I asked slowly. I didn't really like the look he was giving me. It was like I'd suddenly made a blood pact, promising him my future services.

"You may." He grinned mischievously and carried on drinking his tea. Just as 'Batman and Robin' started on the telly.

**This is just kind of a filler but I like it. I wanted to build up the relationship a bit, show Sherlock's more human side. **

**It's been kind of a rough day and I wrote part of this drunk so if it's awful blame 'Sailor Jerry's' ;)**

**Thanks for reading and please, please, pleasssse if you haven't reviewed yet please do, I absolutely love your comments and views on my writing. Thank you again!**


	9. Little Bird

**OK, just a forewarning, you might find this chapter more disturbing than the others, it's in Richards' POV during victim 30's demise and I had a hard time writing it up. Trying to get into a serial killer POV is really kind of tricky, that's why it's taken a while. So please, pleassse don't think I'm a complete psycho for this one! **

**And please let me know what you think and if I did an alright job.**

**I hope you enjoy and thank you so much for sticking with the story.**

**Enjoy? **

A delectable shiver ran down my spine as I watched Miss Nancy Parker Pritchard lock up Woodsburn Library.

She tugged her coat tighter as she fumbled with the keys clumsily. This little thing was afraid of her own shadow! I grinned to myself just thinking about the fun I'll have with this shy little virgin later. This part was almost as good as the main event. Watching them, stalking them like the pretty little doves they are. 8 days ago I followed the school girl for almost an hour, loving the power her fear brought as she kept checking behind her, knowing I was there but not being able to see me. This feeling was so addictive, so morish, it wasn't any wonder why I kept doing this. It's almost too enjoyable, this electric excitement.

She locked the main doors and dropped her keys into her small leather handbag. Checking her surroundings quickly she shivered from the bitter wind and headed towards the bus stop she'd used the last 3 nights that she locked up the Library. What imbecile leaves a tiny 23 year old to lock up a Library all by herself, in the middle of town at 11pm? I smiled and started following her at a safe distance. Mentally thanking whoever it was that decided to allow the beautiful blonde to lock up.

Unfortunately I wouldn't be able to play with my prey tonight. I'd have to be quick to catch her without anyone seeing, some point during the 10 minute walk she took from the Library to the bus stop. But I knew exactly where and when to strike, how I'd do it, how long it should take. I was a master in this line of work. I am Da Vinci and these women are my masterpieces.

She pulled out her phone, checking the time and putting it in her pocket again as she hopped off the curb to cross the deserted street. I took a mental note to remember to take her phone. Since 'Patient 24' I'd learnt to check each of my more recent patients since she escaped, with the luck of that phone call she made without me noticing. I clenched my fists tightly, hating that she got away. It felt like the scar, her tally number on my chest. It felt like it was burning, scalding my skin. It was a lie. I never got to finish the job. Her number on my skin was a lie and I hated that. My hands trembled but I focused and calmed down. Today is not about '24'. Her time will come. Tonight was about Nancy Parker Pritchard soon to be my 30th patient.

I concentrated, sliding the small softball bat down my coat sleeve into my hand. I started walking quicker, easily gaining on the oblivious young woman. She turned the corner, nearing the point I'd mentally pinpointed to get her. The wind picked up, blowing her hair around, her sweet, feminine scent hit me, exciting every part of my body as I focused again.

I glanced around one more time before catching up, finding the street as empty as I hoped it would be. It was only then that she realised how close I was. She twirled around, her long hair spinning as her already fearful green eyes found mine. They were always scared but this one was cowering before I could even raise the bat. She gasped and closed into herself ducking her head to her chest, her arms wrapping around herself as she squatted to the floor, whimpering in terror.

"Please!" She stuttered. "Please don't hurt me! Take my money, anything but please leave me alone!" She cried into her chest, her voice muffled a little but it was clear in the empty, silent street. I smirked and bent down to my knees opposite her.

"I'm afraid I can't." I smiled before swinging the bat and knocking her out, she crumpled to the floor in an unconscious heap.

Now for the fun.

.

After the car ride. The tediously tiring drive that lasted too long. Whenever I was transporting my patient, I felt like an over excited child. The minutes spent in whichever vehicle I'd felt like taking, they ticked, ticked so slowly it was almost painful until our destination came into view and time sped up again.

I carried her into the shed at the very end of the Critchley Estate Mansion. Lord and Lady Critchley are away for the week, much to my luck, not that they'd see us down here even if they were home. But it was nice knowing there was no chance of us being disturbed. I could fully concentrate.

Unlike many of the others, Miss Pritchard woke up only minutes after I'd strapped her onto the work bench. I mentally cursed the rough conditions I was being forced to work in after my escape from prison. If Patient 24 hadn't rung the police I would still have my surgery. My collection, my favourite tools, everything. All gone thanks to that bitch.

I had to force myself to calm down again as Miss Pritchard's eyelids fluttered. I'd set up the lights perfectly, so she couldn't see me as I watched her. The panic was back almost instantaneously. She tugged against the straps around her wrists and ankles.

"No, no, no!" She whispered in agitation. She tugged desperately, her eyes searching around for me, not seeing me as she pulled on the restraints.

"Miss Pritchard?" She looked up, momentarily forgetting her fear at the sound of my rehearsed friendly voice. Her already bright, wet eyes squinted slightly as she tried to find my face.

"Who's there?" She tried, the little thing tried to sound strong but it was pointless the fear was written all over her, I could almost smell her terror as I watched, feeling the excited flutters in my stomach at her beautiful face contorted in worry. I stepped forward into the light and her eyes widened.

"Please! Please let me go, I haven't done anything I-" The fearful little dove was as submissive as a puppy.

"I can't let you go, my dear. We have work to do." I picked up my scalpel knife and slid it into my pocket without her noticing.

"Do…do I know you?" She asked trying to 'subtly' wriggle free from the straps, as if none of the others had tried it before.

"No, but I know you Nancy." She bit down on her lip as more tears rolled out form her eyes. Her bright green eyes.

"How do you know my name?" She asked almost silently as she kept trying to force her wrists out of the straps. She was making her skin red raw, close to breaking the skin.

"I know a lot about you, I've been watching."

"Why?" She asked, she didn't really want to know the answer, but they all asked, as if they needed to know, even if they didn't want to.

"Because I can." I stepped forward, and lent over her, inching my face closer to hers as she pulled away form me. "Because beauty like yours should be respected." I pulled the scalpel from my pocket and drew a soft line down her cheek. She cowered and whimpered in fear as she watched me from the corner of her eye. I didn't press hard enough to cut the skin. That wasn't part of my routine. "And what better way to respect beauty, than in death."

"No she whispered. She'd stopped pulling against the hold on her wrists and ankles. She'd frozen, her entire body stopped moving for a split second, just before she started shaking, screaming right in my ear, her last final attempt at freedom.

"Yes, Miss Pritchard." I slowly started walking around the bench. Running a finger along the wooden grains as I went, my patient had silence in fear. She'd stopped screaming and watched every single move I made as I circled her.

"You know, when I was young. Not much younger than you are now. Someone very dear to me was taken, my Mother." I felt the inevitable anger start to course through my veins at the memory, the thought of what that man did to Mother. "I was very angry you see," I trailed my fingers up her arm. Her skin warm and coated in tiny bumps as her heart pumped. "I wanted revenge, but her murderer had taken his own life." I explained finding the buttons to her shirt.

"No, please!" She cried as I undid the top button. Her makeup trailing dark, wet streaks down to her ears. I grabbed the scalpel and held it to her neck. Tightening my hold on her shirt.

"_Don't_ interrupt me!" I said, controlling my rage the best I could as her eyes widened more and she nodded like a subservient little child and I backed off again, undoing the next button of her pale patterned shirt. "Anyway, because I couldn't take my revenge on him, so I decided this is the next best thing."

"W….what's the next best thing?" She asked again in that painfully silent voice full of stutters and trembles, in it also was that curiosity that they all had. That need to confirm their future. By this point her entire body was shivering as I opened her shirt just enough to find the perfect spot. That spot on the left side of her chest I raised the scalpel and smiled up at her fear stricken face.

"Butchering as the papers call it." She screamed as I dragged the blade across her skin. The thick red liquid oozed out so beautifully it was mesmerising. Slowly pulling against her skin she started crying fully as she pleaded with me to stop. But I ignored her as I finished the mark, the blood trailed lazily down to her cleavage.

"No, _please_!" She pleaded as her eyes frantically watched the blood trickle down her already pale skin. "Please don't! I haven't done anything wrong! Please!"

"No, I know." I smiled reassuringly at her, knowing she wasn't being punished for something must be some relief. "None of the others had either. They were just as innocent as you."

I opened my own shirt, she watched in fear and confusion as I revealed the 29 tally counts on my skin. Neatly lined from the left to the right of my chest. 5 complete sets of 5. I watched the scalpel as I drew a perfect diagonal line across the latest four tally lines, sighing at the slight sting it brought. I revelled in the satisfactions I felt at the now 6 perfect sets. Although that one digit, number 24 was itching away at me. Driving me mad. It's a lie. I can't claim her number until I take her life. But her time will come. Again I had to concentrate back on a now truly horror stricken Miss Pritchard.

"Let's finish this shall we, 30?" She shuddered a sob. Shaking her head as her shoulders raised and then dropped, dropped, dropped, in trembling cries.

I moved the strap up her wrist so I could access her artery. She wriggled her arm, as if it would deter me.

"Ah, ah, ah Miss Pritchard. If I miss then I'll make this twice as painful." I threatened in the sweetest voice I could. She nodded with another whimper, squeezing her eyes shut. By now her make up had streaked all over her cheeks, barely any left on her eyelids and lashes.

I took hold of her hand finding that beautiful blue vein, pumping the thick red liquid through her small little body. I slit a tiny line, just big enough to let the ruby nectar drain from her skinny frame.

"I don't deserve this please! I have a family!" She screamed, watching as the blood flowed freely from her wrist.

"As do most people Miss Pritchard." Seeing as I'd already removed her jean's when I strapped her to the bench I had a had easy access to the thick vein on the inside of her thigh. "And seeing as you haven't even seen your _Mother_ in over 4 months, I'm not going to take that as an excuse to let you go."

"Please don't!" She shouted, her skin visibly paling already.

I sighed sliding a hand between her already parted legs. Each ankle was tied to a different leg of the bench. She shivered and wept.

"I'm sorry but I have to." I shrugged a slit another line across the deeper vein, watching again as the blood pooled out beautifully.

"You don't! Please! Please let me go." She blubbered. Now a snotty, tearful messy, but soon her fear would go. I could lea her up and finish her off.

"If I let you go, you'd die before you got 20 yards from here." I moved up her body moving her head to the side for better access to her neck. Ghosting my fingers over her fast paling skin. I smiled and cut across the thickest, strongest artery as she sobbed. She'd given up, this was her accepting her fate.

"I hope you rot in hell!" She screamed through her teeth, angry and about to die. She had nothing left to fear. It's funny how people really show themselves, in their confidence, their fear and anger. They show exactly who they can be. "I hope you die in the worst possible way you disgusting _fucking_ creep!" She gasped as her blood ran so freely from her, it started dripping onto the floor. "I'm glad your Mother's dead! She was probably as much of a twisted fuck as you!"

I struggled to control my anger as she insulted Mother. None of them had done that before. I bit down on the inside of my mouth. I couldn't disrupt the routine! I couldn't change anything! Instead I grinned at her. Her lips blued slightly more. I dragged my index finger through the line of blood on her neck, disturbing the trail slightly. I raised my finger and sucked off the warm metallic liquid, the taste sent enjoyable tingles down my body.

"Perhaps." I pretended to agree casually. "But I doubt she'd have ever come up with such…creative ways of destroying you." With that I lowered my hand to my zipper and slowly started pulling off my trousers. She blanched and gagged.

"You'll get yours." Her voice was quieter, her eyes were drooping but the anger and strength in it was still there. "Someone _will_ get to you and it's going to _fucking_ hurt." She threatened.

"We'll see." I grinned as I joined her on the bench, straddling over her as the blood pooled under her hair and back. This was it. The best part of the routine.

My heart thumped excitedly, the flutters in my stomach moved south, as did my heated blood. the sight of her blood, her pain. The death draining from her body. It was so exciting, one of the many thrills in my line of work. How do you explain that near euphoric feeling you get, the incredible build up to that heavenly release you know will come?

My favourite part of the ritual. The very best part, it made all the research and stalking worth it. It was like a drug, like ecstasy, like cocaine. That high that's so blissful, that's so purely wonderful it's no surprise I keep bringing these women to peace. Letting them join my mother. The moment when all the arteries are cut, when their bloods drained and they take their last, raspy desperate breath, their eyes flutter shut and their bodies go limp. The moment the life leaves their beautiful, soft bodies. That it is the moment that the orgasmic feeling kicks in, knowing I'd given them their release from life, I took mine, accepting the built up sensation in my genitals and letting it take over as their skin changed from that healthy flesh tone to an anaemic white/blue. That was what made everything worth it.

I pulled out my butchers knife, sharpened and glistening in the light. I gripped it tighter, aiming for her neck.

"Thank you for your co-operation, 30." I raised the knife, letting my anger at her early words leave as I swung down, lodging the strong blade into her flesh with a satisfying squelch.

.

**Adrienne's POV**

"No!" I shouted as the blade lowered to my neck. I woke up in a flat panic. My clothes were wet with sweat, by hair stuck against my skin. My heart was drumming against my ribcage. My eyes took a while to focus, the familiar sick sensation was there, my hands trembling. My bed sheet stuck against my clammy legs as I cried. I don't know why, but the tears wouldn't stop as I gasped for air.

Something was wrong. I hadn't woken like this since I'd dreamt of that night. And this was not a memory of that night. He never got as far as cutting the first artery in my wrist. This wasn't a memory.

No, something was definitely wrong. For some reason, some weird way I knew he'd done it again.

He'd killed another.

**OK, so I couldn't actually describe the rape part, it was making me feel sick just writing the other parts, so I won't even attempt that. But I hope it's convincing enough. **

**I'm so glad it's over with, I've been going crazy over this. Please don't think I'm a psycho! It's been driving me nuts trying to get this done to a level I'm satisfied with.**

**Thank you so much for reading and following, reviewing and favouring it's so amazing knowing people enjoy my writing. But please keep reviewing and thanks for sticking with it ;) **


	10. The Librarian

**I'm so sorry it's taken such a long time to update, but I've literally had no time for it in agessss. Then I lost interest for a little while, but here it is! **

**Enjoy, Lovelies!**

They found the body 4 days after I had the nightmare.

Miss Nancy Pritchard, victim number 30. Her head, heart, arms, eyes and nose were found in the forest around the Mansion home of Lord and Lady Critchley. The remains of her body and her blood found in the small shed at the end of the Lord's estate. She was estimated to have been killed roughly 4 days ago. Which was even scarier seeing as that timed up with my nightmare.

He'd long since gone from the scene of the crime, leaving what was left of her and her numerous body parts spread out around the woods.

Current mood: Exhausted.

The funny thing with insomnia, is if you go a long enough duration without sleeping the world seems to drift into another reality, like watching the TV news update out the corner of your eye, knowing you should probably pay attention but not being able to find the energy or interest to care.

I'd worked it out. 78 hours, 23 minutes and roughly 30 seconds since I last slept. 122 hours since they'd discovered Nancy's body. Making it 216 hours, give or a take a few since she was murdered. 9 days, so I'd say he's just about ready to kill again. She was found 28.9 miles closer to Baker Street than young Samantha Hindes. Which makes it 73.3 miles closer than Maria Brisken's murder site. He's coming.

Oh yeah, I've been having a blast.

And ever since I've had this little voice, right in the back of my head, niggling and making me second guess myself: _It would have been easier if he'd killed us. Death would have been quicker. Death would be have been well over with by now. Death wouldn't have been so utterly terrifying. Death would have been welcoming._

I'm forever cursing my good fortune of surviving, nowadays.

I haven't got a job yet. I haven't left the flat since I'd found out about Nancy Pritchard's mutilated body at the end of Lord Critchley's garden. I haven't spoken to anyone since. Not that they didn't try, Sherlock attempted to let himself in yesterday and the day before, but after discovering I'd added two more bolt locks to the front door he soon gave up. And John, John the ever caring soul he is has been very regimental with his daily check-ups. 8am, 4pm and 10pm, every day for the past 4 days. The pleading for me to at least answer him was getting a fraction more desperate every time.

I'm officially a terrified hermit crab, a hermit crab who desperately needs to change out of her pyjama's.

**John's POV**

"I'm worried." I repeated. Meghan being the one and only source of my upset. She's become a mute, recluse, I haven't seen her in days now. Mrs Hudson's been so fretful she's been baking nearly nonstop for 3 days. Sherlock hadn't really shown much concern but he was different, even just a fraction he's at least been paying more attention to the occasional noises from downstairs.

"I know John." Sherlock exhaled as he paced the room. More frustrated at being oblivious as to why Meghan's suddenly shut herself away than actually worrying. "Your incessant muttering and foot tapping is evidence of that. If you're so worried knock the door down!" He threw his arms about and carried on pacing.

"That's right, pretend you don't care."

"Why would I care?" He asked, stopping suddenly.

"Oh come on Sherlock, you check her door every time we leave the flat!" His stubbornness _will_ kill me one day.

"I check because the_ blasted_ woman is a walking enigma! I want to know what she's doing, why she's disappeared."

"Of course it is." I sighed dryly walking through to the kitchen and practically feeling the death glare Sherlock was sending my why. "You don't think it's anything to do with The Butcher, do you?" I asked, leaning into the fridge, trying to ignore the photo's of The Butcher's 30th victim on the counter. We'd been down to Fox Hill to look at the body, but it was just the same. The heart, the decapitated head, the 5inch scar. Same psycho, different victim. Instead of looking at the rotting limbs of Miss Pritchard I tried to find something to eat, anything but another one of Mrs Hudson's rock cakes.

"No. I've thought of that." He admitted tiredly. "No connection. She lived a good distance from the murderers location. Sure, she mentioned something about her Aunt's friend finding a victim, but that wouldn't phase her all that much, the way she spoke of her Aunt was that she was a relative you rarely see or hear from, so she wouldn't exactly care too much about her friends. I've looked through every file the government have on her, and nothing suggests she has any closer link to him. Lestrade has confirmed there are no records of anything similar happening to her so it's not as though the reports are triggering a suppressed memory. Although she's interested in the case, she's not _so_ emotionally invested in it that another death would result in this response." He scowled down at the floor as if he could see down into her flat.

"Right." The little bubble of an idea shrivelled away again and we're no closer to helping Meghan. "Well I'm going to go check on her."

"Why? She's not answering when you go down there." Sherlock Holmes: Always missing the little human touches.

"Yes, but showing that I care might be helping."

He just shook his head, scooped up his violin and started playing as he paced. I slowly headed towards her flat, the smell of baking brownies hitting me the closer I got to Mrs Hudson's own flat. I got to Meghan's and knocked.

**Adrienne's POV**

"Meghan?" And here's John with an early checkup. In fact a whole 30 minutes early for his 4pm routine. He really is worried.

"Meghan?!"

I should answer him.

"Meghan please answer, at least just tell me to piss off so I know you're alright?" I bit my lip and shuffled towards the door, through the thick frosted glass I saw him drop his forehead against it.

"We're all worried about you."

I've got to answer him, I can't be a selfish loner forever.

"Mrs Hudson could open a bakery with the amount she's made…" Mrs Hudson bakes when she's worried. Although it hasn't seemed to improve her skills.

"I'm actually considering breaking in." I stepped closer as he spoke, trying to remember where the creaky floor boards are. "And Sherlock… even he's getting uneasy, of course he won't admit that, but he is."

There was a long silence, I stepped closer to the door, trying to force myself to speak up.

"Well…you know where we are if you need us. Please come talk if you need to." He sounded so deflated and I wanted to cry all over again, if not for my unshakable fear but for that fact that he cares, genuinely cares for me. His shadow moved across the glass as he moved away from the door.

"Stop being Adrienne. They want Meghan back." I whispered to myself in a miniature, croaky voiced pep talk before unlocking all 5 bolts and pulling the door open a little. John turned round and was back by the door in a second.

"Meghan!" He smiled, analysing my face in a very Sherlock-esque moment his expression dropped and his eyebrows knitted together in worry again. I must look bad.

"John don't worry about me, I'll be alright, it's just…it's" I stalled, my voice cracking a little from not speaking for days. I leant forward a little. "It's that time of the month and everything either makes me want to cry or punch someone."

John moved back a little, a pink hue rising in his cheeks.

"Oh!…Well you could have told us! We've been really worried, Meg."

"Yeah, because that's the kind of thing you shout about."

"Right." He laughed nervously and scratched his head.

"I'm sorry John, it wasn't intentional. Have you been coming round a lot?" I asked, putting on an act and playing dumb.

"Yeah, 3 times a day." He looked me up and down.

"Yeah I just take a fistful of sleeping pills and listen to my iPod during this…time." It wasn't a lie, not fully anyway.

"And you starve yourself, apparently. You look pretty bad, Meg." He gave me a disapproving look and shook his head. "I'm not going to have to force you to eat as well as Sherlock, am I?

"No sir." I felt a genuine smile creep onto my face. "I just feel ill when this happens, totally puts you off eating."

"I definitely don't envy_ you_ this week." He smiled and seemed to decide to himself that I was alright. "Do you wanna come over for dinner tonight, we can order take away?" He offered looking far more relaxed, I so hope he accepted my lie. That guilty feeling was bubbling in the pit of my stomach. I hate lying to John.

"Sure, why not?" I grinned. "I'm definitely going to have to shower up and change because I'm feeling disgusting right now."

"Yeah, of course just come round when you're ready, I'll have tried to coax Sherlock into being in a social mood by then." He winked and smiled fondly. "I'm glad you're alright, Meg."

"Thanks, Johnno. You're a sweetypie!" I made a face and messed up his hair.

"Oh leave me alone!" He laughed jumping away. "See you in a bit." He said, already heading off.

"Hey, John." I leant on the doorframe and bit my lip, should I ask him?

"Yeah?"

"Was Sherlock really worried?" I asked quietly. Hoping Sherlock hadn't suddenly inherited super hearing. Although why I didn't want him to know was beyond me.

"Completely." He grinned widely and hurried back upstairs.

**Sherlock's POV**

"She's coming round!" John shouted, smiling as he burst through to the living room. I'd heard him all but running up the stairs, his excitement obvious in his movements. John was ever so sluggish when he wasn't happy.

"…Meghan?" I aked, something felt lighter in my chest, in my lower abdomen, I must being coming down with something, influenza, perhaps?

"No, The Queen. Of course Meghan!" He started moving quickly round the room, collecting up things, putting them away, storing the photographs of The Butcher's latest victim in my desk drawer. He's tidying and he's happy. "She's alright, it was just a personal problem, but she's ok. She's coming up for dinner in a while," He suddenly turned and pointed a small statue at me. "And you're _both_ eating."

What he meant by that, I don't know. Was he insinuating I didn't eat enough, or Meghan didn't? Of course she eats, last week she'd laid back against the sofa and eaten half a pack of custard creams while we watched an awful movie about Chernobyl. Then the night before we'd ordered pizza and we'd both eaten that. What was he saying?

"Why nobody eats around here, is beyond me!" He ranted, in a very Mrs Hudson way as he spun around, trying to make the flat more appealing. She's been here before, so is efforts are pointless.

I must admit, if only to myself, I do want to see her. As everything else involving her, I don't understand why. It's a puzzle. I want to see her but is that because I want to know what happened, or because John might actually be right, and I'm worried. I scoffed and brushed the latter of the options aside. Earning another confused look from John as he cleared the kitchen counter by sliding everything on it, into the drawer below. Why would I care? I have no connection with her, she's a friend but so is Lestrade, but I don't feel the need to find out what he's doing when I haven't seen him for 5 and a half days! It's no concern of mine whether she's ill or in trouble or scared or anything. Not my problem.

No, I just want to work her out, know why she's such a mystery. Nothing more. I nodded just as the doorbell rang. So why on earth was I so eagerly walking to the front door to answer it?

**Adrienne's POV**

I'd changed into a pair of skinny jeans and an oversized jumper. The great thing with John and Sherlock was that I could wear my pyjama's up there and it would be just as acceptable. I quickly reconsidered going back and changing into my slouchy joggers and and old shirt, but then I remembered that I hadn't been out of my pyjama's in over a working week. I needed to cut myself off from them. Like a class a drug, my pyjama's were an awful addiction.

I stood on the doorstep of 221B and sighed, leaving a cloud on the glass. Socialising seemed like such a terrifying thing after 5 days of solitude. But I knocked, forcing Adrienne back in and Meghan out as I relaxed. The door swung open moments later, and much to my surprise Sherlock stood with a slight look of confusion himself before snapping back to his usual self and examining me.

"Sherly!" It was odd, seeing him after 6 days, of course he didn't look any different, it had only been 6 days! But I was shocked at myself, I was happy to see him, I might have even missed him. Gees!

"Meghan." He greeted dryly, not mentioning my use of his, not so favoured nickname. "That's what John meant." He said cryptically as I strolled in.

"What? What's what John meant?" Suddenly feeling paranoid.

"You clearly haven't been eating." What was that? Disaproval?! From Sherlock Holmes? "Your cheeks are sallower, your hair's more dull, your eyes aren't as bright, you look horrible." He said with a frown.

"Well thank you, Sherlock. Ever the gentleman." I exhaled dramatically, suddenly feeling shit for looking so awful, John mentioned that it was obvious I hadn't been eating, so why was it so much worse when Sherlock mentioned it?

"It's just an observation. But you should eat. You suit healthy." I looked over at him and he smiled. It wasn't one of those forced smiles. It wasn't a fake smile he gave to so many people when he knew John was expecting him to behave. It was a caring smile. He wasn't being cruel, it was his way of saying that he wanted me to be healthy.

Oh great, and what's this? I'm blushing?! I mentally scolded, well we have just been staring at each other for a moment.

"Oh, right yeah I'll get onto that. Deep fried Chicken Balls and Prawn Cakes it is." I grinned at him and carried onto into the living room where John was.

"Don't over do it, I said healthy, not obese." Sherlock joked quietly behind me.

And just like that, I was back in the land of the socially competent.

**I know, I know! It's bad and it's kind of a filler, but I've uploaded two chapters **

**so shut up and read it ;) **

**Thanks for sticking with it if you've had the patients! :D**


	11. Jealousy

It's been 2 days since my return to the land of the living.

So far I'm quite sure I'd eaten my own weight in food, twice over. My main source of nutrition being Baked Alaska Ice Cream, although Sherlock had nearly polished off an entire tub himself yesterday. He'd come over, this time managing to get into my flat and we watched rubbish TV while he told me all about the cases they'd had in the past few days.

"He's definitely moving with a specific destination in mind." Sherlock had said while I shoved a spoonful of Ben & Jerry's into my mouth. Referring of course, to our friend, Dr Richards.

"What like a target?" I asked, not actually wanting the answer.

"Yes." He'd nodded, playing with the melting ice cream in his bowl. "He's going somewhere." He'd nodded then went on to explain that he's changed the ritual a little because he so wants to get to his 'missing victim'.

"They must have relocated her by now." He'd said in thought.

How he hadn't worked it out yet, I don't know. He's insanely intelligent, he's so clever he's almost not a functioning human, yet he can't work me out. He can't work out that I'm the relocated victim, I'm 24, for a genius he can be bloody stupid.

I'd got myself a job too, at a high end bar, two streets over, called 'Opium Blue'. I know it's not exactly the teacher role I was hoping for, but it's as close as you can get to home, I'm not heavily replied upon if I have another little breakdown or the good Dr catches up with me, its easy, I can blend in and be invisible. Easy.

I start tonight, apparently my fake resume was quite impressive. Having worked at a bar called 'O'Shea's Establishment' already meant they were more than happy to accept me. Who they rang up for a reference I have no idea, I wouldn't be surprised if Lestrade had put his number down. But I'd also been dragged into helping with The Butcher case. After suggesting he could have a specific number, a certain target he wants to reach. Both Sherlock and John thought I saw things they were missing: 'Little things, almost irrelevant' as Sherlock put it, 'Regardless, I suppose they could be useful.' He admitted reluctantly.

He's given me some of the notes to go over while he and John had gone to another case in Gloucester. Something to do with an old lady and a dog? Anyway, he wanted me to look them over, see what else I could work out from the files. I think he was just testing me out, seeing as John had been spending more and more time with Mary, Sherlock was getting jealous, frustrated and irritated with John's occasional disappearances for the night, so in other words, I was an apprentice right now.

**Yesterday...**

"He was over there _last_ night!" Sherlock had ranted, strolling into my apartment while I was hoovering. Scaring me shitless in doing so, might I say. He fell into his armchair and glared at an undeserving Buddha statue on the shelf. While I collected myself and shoved the hoover into the corner.

Clearly John had gone round to Mary's for the night again, and of course, Sherlock wasn't happy.

"_You_ were over _here_ last night, what difference does it make?" I asked, knowing this could either be a 2 minute stop, or a 2 hour one, depending on how much Sherlock needed to vent.

"That's not the same, this is just like an extension of the flat. We're in and out of here all the time-"

"Tell me about it." I grumbled, but he ignored me.

"He's all the way over in Kensington."

"Oh heaven forbid he has a life!" I laughed, getting comfier on the sofa.

"But it's the inconvenience." He sighed.

"Sherlock, it's not like he's going to just up and disappear." He looked at me as if I'd hit the nail right on the head. "That's what you're worried about, isn't it?"

"What?" He asked suddenly standing up and walking through to the kitchen. I followed him out and jumped up on the counter while he searched through my cupboards. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not! Not wanting your friend to leave you isn't a bad thing Sherlock." I comforted, while he pretended not to listen, coming across the teabags. Of course. "But he's not going anywhere, and even if he does move out it's no big deal, he won't be able to stay away from here even if he tried."

He stopped what he was doing and just stood still for a moment.

"He won't leave you, Sherlock." I watched as he drummed his fingers against the counter top. "If you want to we could try and convince them to move in here, then I can move into 221B with you, take John's room."

He suddenly turned around and stared at me, tilting his head a little.

"You're so hard to work out." He muttered. "You would do that?"

"Sure, I mean, it doesn't make much difference to the set up we already have."

"You'd move in with me, just so John could stay here?"

"Sure. I can think of worse house mates than you." That was a lie. Living with Sherlock could be the worst offer I'd ever made. "Then he could still help you with cases more."

"That's not such a bad idea." He considered it and continued making tea.

"So..." I said looking through the TV guide. Wanting to change the topic before I actually signed my soul away to the detective in my kitchen. "Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter or 300?"

**Now...**

"You'll be alright, won't you?" John had asked as they down the stairs to leave.

"I'll be fine John." I sighed dramatically, crossing my arms and watching as Sherlock pulled up his coat collar. I have to admit, he does look pretty good in that coat. I'd fallen asleep on the sofa while we were watching 300. I woke up at 3am covered over with my duvet. I don't know why Sherlock's little gestures keep surprising me but they do. "I think I can survive 2 days without you strapping young fellows to protect me."

"Ahah." He laughed sarcastically. "Ring if you need anything."

"What so you can help me, all the way from Gloucester, what are you going to do John, teleport back?" I giggled, even Sherlock was fighting back a smile.

"Oh shut up!" He laughed reluctantly. "Just look after yourself and we'll be back Tuesday."

"Thanks, _Dad_."

"No parties." He warned with a dumb grin. "And no boys." At that, Sherlock looked up and smirked.

"She doesn't know any 'boys'_ to_ invite over." He'd almost said it smugly? "Unless you count those _'sexy hunks of man meat_' in 300." Sherlock said with a raised eyebrow. Quoting what I'd said last night while we were watching the movie. But come on! Gerard Butler and Michael Fassbender, in nothing but capes and pants? _As if_ that weren't aimed at sexually frustrated female audience members.

What an arsehole! I grinned to myself as I got an idea, John had just rolled his eyes and taken a bag out to the car, use to our pointless insults. Whereas Sherlock stood in the hallway, almost challenging an answer. I walked up to the curly haired beanpole as he stood there. I got so close, I was almost pressed up against him, he started to panic a little, not use to me being so forward. I stood on my tiptoes and leant towards his ear.

"I don't need to know them to enjoy their _male_ _company_ for a night, Sherlock." I whispered against his ear. I definitely didn't imagine the shiver it gave him, but before he could reply, not that it looked like he was able to, I stepped back and strolled over to the front door.

"See ya, Watson!" I sang from the front doorstep.

"Bye Bennett! Have fun at work!" He replied, his head in the trunk of the car. I turned around to find Sherlock right behind me. Inches behind me in fact. He's so much taller than me, he makes me feel like a tiny child. He stared down into my eyes, but there was something there, something behind his eyes that wasn't usually around, I'd never seen it from him before but before I could think on it too much he spoke.

"No boys, Meghan." He said seriously, there was a sort of warning to his voice and something that could be mistaken for jealousy, if it were anyone but Sherlock. "Not even Spartans." His lip turned into a lopsided grin. His fingers ghosted over my arm, to my hand before he stepped around me, closing the front door behind him. Leaving me alone in the hallway.

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What the _fuck_ just happened here?

**OOOOOH SHERLY! **

**I like this chapter, I don't even know why, enjoy it!**


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